Winchester Interrupted
by Maya Perez
Summary: Novelization of flashback scenes from Season ep 4.09 I Know What You Did Last Summer as well as expanded and added scenes.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Sam slipped inside the Impala, sliding the two brown paper bags to the passenger side of the bench seat. One was full of foodstuffs – crackers, Twinkies, meat sticks, useless stuff really, but things that would fill his stomach and shut it up for a while. The other, the heavier one, was the one his hopes hinged on. Several bottles of black label whiskey sat nestled inside it, the highest proof he could get his hands on.

There were things he planned to do tonight and he was going to need all the help he could to get them done. He needed something to take the edge of any survival instincts. Because surviving was not what he had in mind for that day. Not at all.

_Sammy, this isn't what I wanted…_

"I already told you to _shut up_!" Sam slammed his open palms hard against the steering wheel his voice echoing in the confined space. The pain in his hands brought tears to his eyes, but that was alright. He was losing it and he knew it. Had been on a downward spiral since the moment he realized Dean was dead. And just like with everything else in the last year, there seemed to be little he could do about it.

He reached up and touched his chest, feeling Dean's talisman hidden underneath then eyed the bag with the booze, but knew it was too early. He needed to hole up somewhere for a while, take his time. Make sure he had everything he needed… Then he could start the slow path to ultimate courage.

The Devil's Gate had been a total bust. Though he'd found the Colt at Bobby's and put it back together, the key hadn't worked. His arms and shoulders twinged at the recollection, the muscles still sore from all his efforts to open the door anyway. Nothing had worked. He'd eventually been forced to admit he wouldn't be setting Dean free that way.

But all wasn't lost quite yet. There was one more thing he could try. And this one _would not fail_.

_No, Sammy, don't…_

He took a deep breath, ignoring the illusionary voice, and opened the glove box to pull his father's journal out. The battered book hadn't gotten much use of late. Most of their problems recently had been beyond its scope. Could a journal feel lonely? Useless? Impotent? He carefully flipped through the worn pages, words and pictures jumping out at him. Somewhere in there he remembered running across a special list when they'd been searching for other information. Though the yellowing pages had contained little on demonic deals or how to extract someone from the pit, they did contain a roster of powerful crossroad/Ley line locations.

Though he already knew of one that worked, he'd killed the demon that belonged there. He didn't know if the territory had been reassigned, or even if their rules called for such things. He wasn't proud of having killed the red eyed demon, especially since it'd meant taking the life of an innocent with it. But he'd enjoyed destroying one of them, despite what he told himself at the time. Though it ended up being useless, at least he'd done, tried _something_. He'd taken a step to try to free Dean from his deal rather than just let them take him without ever lifting a finger. There'd been a chance that by destroying the very demon who'd given him his contract, regardless of the fact she said she didn't 'hold' it, that it would have been voided, that it would have set Dean free.

It hadn't.

Unbeknownst to him at the time, Dean's contract truly was being held by another demon, by Lilith. But at least no more souls would be taken by that crossroads' bitch ever again.

Sam let his gaze scan the handwritten list. There, in Montana, just outside Great Falls. It looked to be the closest location from the Devil's Gate. He ignored the fact his hands were shaking as he pulled out his laptop from the backpack and did a Google Map search to figure out how to get there from here. A nine hour drive. That was good. It would eat up a lot of his spare time. Better to be driving than sitting somewhere, though it would still give him too much time to think.

His cell phone rang and he froze.

He knew who was calling. Knew who'd been calling every few hours without fail. Guilt stabbed at him as he made no move to answer it. It was Bobby. The last person he'd ever meant to hurt, and the last one he could talk to right now. Bobby wouldn't understand. Bobby would try to talk him out of this. It was a debate he could ill afford and it would only be a waste of time. He waited stiffly until the ringing went away and took the caller to voicemail where Bobby's words would remain unheard.

Again his gaze drifted toward the paper bags and again he forced himself to look away. He could do this. He _had_ to do this. But the last thing he needed was to get pulled over as a possible DWI and get thrown in jail. He'd just have to suck it up, as his Dad would have said.

He felt a pang at the thought of his father. Sam was sure if John Winchester were here, that he wouldn't be too happy with his youngest son, a disapproving scowl plainly stating so to the world even if he never said a word.

Sam closed his eyes against the vivid image, too many unresolved issues still flying inside him about their father. He'd known or deduced things about Sam before he died. He'd known enough to warn Dean to watch out for him, and if need be, to kill him. But how long had he suspected? Was that why their relationship had always been so strained or did he just want to use the possibility as an excuse because it would make the past so much easier to swallow?

He pushed the hair away from his face, a slow sigh escaping his lips. There was no point in going over any of this now. His father was gone, Dean was in Hell, and he was currently pissing away his last few hours in this world going over things that didn't matter. There was no one around to answer any of his questions anymore so nothing would ever be resolved. As always, it was too little, too late -- the Sam Winchester Way.

He shoved and twisted the key into the ignition a little harder than necessary. The Impala's engine rumbled to life. With a squeal of tires he left the gas station's parking lot.

The drive was a long one.

Sam kept the music loud, pounding like thunder in his ears, trying to make it as hard to think as possible. He grabbed snacks out of the first sack, not caring what they were and barely tasting any of them as he peeled them and shoved them into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. He only stopped when his bladder yelled loudly enough and then only long enough to do his business before he was moving again.

He drove into Great Falls as the sun dipped low in the horizon.

Passing several hotels on Tenth Avenue, mostly major chains, he ignored them. He drove around until he found the seedier part of the city of fifty-five thousand then located a cheap, nondescript motel.

The name of the place slid in and then right out of his consciousness. He grabbed a faded maroon matchbook at the front desk with the name and address in case things worked out and Dean needed to find where some of their stuff was. He had no idea how or where Dean would be brought back, and in the end didn't really care just as long as it got done, but it didn't hurt to do what he could to make things easier. There was no telling what physical or emotional condition his brother would be in. He had no clue what they had been doing to him in the pit and deep down he didn't really want to know, sure it was nothing good. Getting Dean out was the only thing that was important, everything else could wait, and he had to get him out _now_.

Sam passed over most of his cash to the bored clerk, enough to cover the room for a week. The fading wallpaper and dark paint in the lobby oddly reflected how he felt – used, worn, empty. He stared at the pages of the register as the stooped man pushed the book toward him and Sam drew a total blank. None of the usual aliases, none of the emergency names, nothing. He forced his hand to move, not thinking just writing something, anything, then stared at what he'd written in surprise – Dean Winchester.

Snagging the room key, he went back out to the car. He dug in the glove box for the container of fake ID's and grabbed the first one he found with his picture on it, totally avoiding looking closely at those with his brother's face. Dumping out what was left of the snacks into the back seat, he used the empty sack to stuff in a few things from the trunk, then bundled the bag up so he wouldn't have to look at the contents. Lastly, he removed one bottle of Jack from the second bag then stuffed the other two under the driver's seat.

_Sammy, please…_

"I'm not listening to you." He locked up the car and went back into the motel.

His room was in the back, the hallway dark and shaded. He opened the door and glanced uncaring at the space within. It was a one room deal, with a miniscule bathroom off the side. There was a kitchenette and a small fridge, the almost glowing green counter the only real color to the place. The back wall was made of large blocks, the sole window high up and grated like those of a mental ward. As good a place for him as any. He guessed the only thing that did bother him about it was not being able to afford giving his brother a better place to rest when he came back. Sam was too close to the edge to try to do better, though, to interact for long with others. Any delays would only work against him and his resolve. His brother would just have to cope.

As if he had the right to tell that to anyone. How good had he coped with things on his own?

_Stop it, Sam_.

"Make me." He set the bag and the bottle on the room's lone ratty table with a loud thump.

Why shouldn't he think about his failings anyway? Why not bring out into the light all the things he'd done wrong, or not pushed hard enough for, or lied about, or failed to do? It would just be fuel to the fire, more reasons to hate himself, to convince himself into doing what he had to. He was the one who was tainted. He was the one who was cursed. It was his _fault_ all the people around him had been taken. His mother had died trying to protect him, Jess because she'd been in the way of his 'development'. His father sold his soul to spare Dean because Sam had failed to kill Yellow Eyes when the demon was inside him and that way his brother could save Sam when the need arose or stop him if need be. Dean had traded his life for him because it was what he'd always done. But why bother? Truly, _why_? With him gone the curse would end. So why fight so hard to keep him alive? What was the _point_? Even when they won his family lost. And in the end he was the one having to live with all the fallout.

Well that was going to stop. Dean wanted the chain broken? Well Sam would break it -- permanently.

His hand snaked out for the bottle. He tore the seal and twisted the lid from the top then brought the whole thing to his mouth. He gulped down three large swallows before pulling the bottle back. The golden liquid burned down his throat almost as if he were on fire from the inside. It splashed into his stomach, into the mostly digested mess he'd shoved blindly down there and swished around.

Sam closed his eyes trying to feel the alcohol as it penetrated his blood stream, willing for it to hurry up and dull his nerves, to shut up the stinking voice of survival trying to talk him out of his chosen course.

After a couple of minutes he took another gulp then set the bottle to the side. As badly as he wanted, needed, the whiskey's numbing effects, he also had to be careful. Alcohol poisoning would get him nowhere. And neither would getting sloshing drunk. He just required enough to give him liquid courage, to dull the edges, but not truly impair him. Dying was easy. Dying for getting what you wanted something else entirely. To do that, he would have to be careful, and for that, he'd have no choice but to keep some of his wits about him regardless of what he'd prefer.

He glanced at his lone window and saw it was still much too bright outside. He'd need to pace himself. There was a lot of time to go before he could do what needed doing. He glanced at the paper sack on the table, knowing other things would need to be prepared, but he wasn't ready to go there yet.

He vaguely recalled seeing a convenience store less than a block from the motel. It was his last night. Perhaps he deserved a last meal. It would help slow down the alcohol's effects, spread them out. Maybe he should pick up something milder to ramp up with, like beer. He had to be smart -- for himself, for Dean.

Sam left and came back with a Nighthawk steak dinner plus a couple of personal pizzas for the microwave and a six pack of some of Dean's favorite brand of beer in tow. As the microwave counted down the seconds while cooking his final repast, he found his gaze roaming back to the table and the bag still waiting for him there.

Instead of going to it, he pulled two of the beers out of the package he'd just bought, and crammed the rest into the small fridge. Popping the top off one of them, he chugged the whole thing down without tasting it. The belch that followed echoed in the room, but sounded hollow and lifeless. He almost jumped when the ringer on the microwave went off.

Grabbing his dinner out, he slid it onto the counter. The plastic covering went into the trash, followed by the cap of the second beer. The smell of meat and macaroni and cheese wafted around him, but in no way did anything for his appetite. He cut the steak into even pieces and ate them slowly one by one, followed by the occasional sip of beer.

_It doesn't have to be the last one, Sam._

The edges were starting to dull slightly, but obviously not enough. He glanced back toward the window, the day over, darkness falling all around. He ditched the rest of his Nighthawk into the trash and finished off the beer, but left the bottle by the first empty on the counter. Dean never could stand it if things were too clean and neat. He'd leave the mess for him to remember him by.

Besides, there were other things he had to take care of at the moment.

Sam approached the back table with its paper bag. He squatted down onto the too small chair, feeling awkward and his dinner sitting like acid rocks in his stomach. He looked at the open whiskey bottle on the table, then away, tempted by the heavier stuff despite his previous thoughts on the matter.

He reached for the rolled up paper sack instead. Opening it, he took out the contents one by one – a bottle of graveyard dirt, used dead cat bones, his fake ID, other odds and ends, and finally the black beat up tin box. The last he could barely stand to look at. This would make the fourth time a Winchester would be using something like it. Such an innocuous seeming container – just a simple rust covered, battered box. Yet it held the power to call up evil – to change people's lives and not for the better. Tonight it would help him save his brother, just like one had helped doom him. It would also be the vehicle of Sam's demise.

He placed all the needed items inside the box then reached for the whiskey bottle for a swig before he could think better of it. Staring at his picture staring back at him from within, Sam closed the box's lid. The time would be upon him soon.

He listened intently for a rebuttal from inside his head and heard nothing. He felt a little warm and somewhat tingly inside. The voice remained quiet – as it should be, as he needed it to be. The whiskey and beer were doing their jobs admirably. The fact his hands were still shaking didn't mean a thing.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Sam put the box in the paper sack then took one last swig of whiskey before putting the cap back on the bottle and placed it inside the bag as well. He stood up too fast, making the room spin around him for a second or two. He grabbed onto the table to make sure he didn't fall, only to hear it groan in protest at the added weight. Somehow the damn thing held and the room went upright again. He snatched up the paper sack, the walls suddenly feeling like they were pressing closer. Dean's necklace dragged heavily at his neck. It was time to get moving.

He would wait at the crossroads themselves. Thinking he could linger a couple of hours indoors had been a mistake. And he was ready anyway. Fooling himself into thinking that prepping the box would take anytime at all had been just another survival delaying tactic. The voice might be silent for the moment, but it wanted to save him from himself all the same. He wouldn't let it.

He saw no one on his way out, which was just as well. There would be no masks tonight. No, Polite Sam, or Worried for Others Sam, or even Trying to Be Dean Sam. Tonight there would only be Get Out of My Way Sam. Give Me What I Want Sam. And _I Want My Freakin' Brother Back_ Sam.

The sun was gone from the sky, the parking lot and roads dark except for circles of brightness from the street lights. The Impala sat in a pocket of shadow as if trying to hide from him. Disapproval from a car… That would be a first. But his brother was the one who thought of the Impala as being alive, as being part of the family, not him. He had enough of a buzz at the moment though where he wouldn't have been too surprised to discover she was channeling Dean's spirit. Not that it would stop him. Nothing would.

He started the car and just sat there, again waiting, listening, and hearing nothing. Fine.

He put the car in reverse and backed out of the slot before joining the light traffic on Second Avenue. From there he made a couple of turns until he got on Tenth then followed that out of the city until he hit Highwood Road.

After driving a while he had to turn on the high beams, the land around him turning into plowed fields and signs of active civilization became few and far between. The place he was going to was a crossroads set smack in the middle of a piece of flatland between several hills, mountain ridges and rivers.

Before he was ready for it, he was there.

Sam let the Impala idle as he stared at the site of his upcoming death. Here he would right the wrongs done on his behalf. Here he would atone for his failures. Here he would put things back to the way they should be.

It wasn't much to look at though. Tall wild grass and weeds made a carpet on the sides of the one lane roads. A boarded up dilapidated gas station on the other side rotted away quietly, its lone remaining pump half dismantled, the attached awning looking as if the slightest breeze would rip it away. Two large empty cable spindles had been left behind on the property to decay along with the rest. A lone streetlight struggled to keep the darkness at bay, its bulb holder looking like a sad daisy, drooping in misery and loneliness.

Sam forced his hand to turn the key and shut the engine off.

He stared out toward the middle of the crossroads, toward the place where he needed to take the box and bury it to summon a demon, and found he couldn't move.

If he did this…he would die.

Worse, he'd go to Hell, taking his brother's place. To undergo all the torments Dean had been suffering on his behalf, because he'd been unable to let Sam go. Because their father had pounded into Dean since he was four years old that he was supposed to take care of his younger sibling, to keep him safe.

Had he asked for that? No! If anything there'd been times when he'd balked at Dean's protectiveness, at his brother's insistence he didn't need to take care of things on his own. Though it was only fair to say that when it really counted, Dean hadn't chased after him. He'd let Sam go his own way, despite his brother's own feelings on the matter. Sam had left Dean behind when his father exiled him for wanting to go to college. Then he'd cut Dean totally out during his second year at Stanford because his brother had been too much of a reminder of the things he feared and had hoped to escape from when he went to school in the first place. His brother let him go yet again in 2005, though they'd not seen each other in four years, right after they'd been reunited so they could go look for their absent father. They'd come back empty handed and Dean wanted to keep looking, but Sam had had plans then. He had a scheduled meeting with the dean of the law school program, his LSAT scores making it a done deal, his future path set. Even the hope and need Sam had seen in his brother's eyes and the fact their father was still missing, couldn't dissuade him. There were others depending on him. And he wasn't made for the hunter's life. Had never been. But someone else had different plans and weren't as forgiving as Dean. Azazel had destroyed everything he'd lined up for his future. When he killed Jessica, everything had changed…

Then months later, as he and Dean crossed the country following slim leads in hopes to find either their father or what had killed both his mother and Jess, Dad had called. He told them he was fine, like the fact he'd been missing and gone underground were no big deal, then informed them that the killer was a demon. This was followed by commands to go on a job while forbidding Sam from coming after the thing even as his father was closing in on it. Sam hadn't taken it well. How could he? Jess had been murdered by the thing. And Mom! And he was just supposed to ignore it? Dean said his piece, called him selfish, but had still let him go when he didn't change his mind and demanded to leave for California to hunt down their father for some much deserved answers and payback.

But Dean _hadn't_ let him leave after Jake knifed Sam in the back. He'd not let his soul go wherever demon tainted souls went, instead trading an eternity of torment so Sam could live and the two of them could be together again for one last desperate year.

A year where so much had been wasted… Dean trying to pretend nothing was wrong. Set on throwing his life away and then when Sam finally got him to want to try to live, he was so scared out of his mind he completely shut Sam out. Indulging his brother's every whim, trying to distract him so Dean wouldn't notice Sam's own efforts to find a way to get him free of his contract -- the lies and secrets stacking up between them as time ran out and he got ever more desperate. And when finally, finally, Sam got through to Dean again, when it looked like they could be brothers again, their time had quickly run out and despite everything they tried, his brother was taken from him.

It wasn't that he was ungrateful. He'd been glad to be alive. Glad to have been able to try and find a way to save his brother, even happy that he'd finally been able to get Dean to want to live rather than just blindly throw his soul away as worthless.

Because while his brother might be many things, worthless had never been one of them. Without him there's no telling how fast their father would have burned out and self destructed after their mother died. Without him Sam wouldn't have had even the pretense of a semi normal childhood to grow up in. Dean had been the glue that held their dysfunctional family together since day one. He made sure he and his father were fed, cared for Sam when he was sick, watched after him when their father was working, eased his fears after each of his many nightmares, gave him someone to look up to, that he could go to. He gave him the security of knowing there would be someone there who would support him no matter what, whether he needed him to or not. A million little things that despite Dean's flaws had made him one of the most important and beloved people in his life. One of the few who knew him inside and out and accepted him regardless, unconditionally, _forever_. He'd been a source of strength, something to aspire to, even during the years he'd not been around. He owed Dean more than he could ever say.

And now… Knowing the price that was being paid on his behalf… Knowing he'd failed despite all his grand intensions. He couldn't leave it alone. Something had to be done. Dean must be saved. There was only one last avenue open to him. And he had _to take it_!

_Yeah? Then what's the hold up, Sammy? Go and sell your soul already! What you waiting for?_

Sam glanced outside the car again, feeling cold inside and out. He gripped the steering wheel in front of him, his knuckles turning dead white. His chest was in a vise, his throat clogged tight, eyes burning. Slowly, his gaze dropped down to the Impala's door handle. All he had to do was open that door, step out, and bury the box. That was all. That was it. Then he could get Dean back.

He didn't move. He couldn't move. He sat paralyzed as fear gnawed at every corner of his soul.

His gaze slowly moved from the door to stare at the keys still dangling from the ignition. It didn't have to be tonight. He could work himself up some more and come back tomorrow. The thought was like a giant flash of insight, a lighthouse trying to guide him past unseen reefs to safety. Dean would forgive him another day…

Sam stared at the keys, not reaching for them only staring, until he couldn't see them anymore. Hot tears rolled down his face, his whole body shaking. Because he knew, he knew if he made that choice, if he turned that key, he would never come back here again. If he took the option, no matter his intensions, Dean would be doomed forever.

So instead, he sat there with his tears, his fears and doubts, and did nothing, nothing at all.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sam's breath coalesced in front of his face. The night had gotten cold though it was already late May.

It felt like he'd not moved for days though in truth it had only been less than a couple of hours.

The tears were gone, dried up, and his eyes ached as if they'd been rolled in sand and put back into his head. He still felt numb, spent, empty. Yet it wasn't the same as before. He was drained, but somehow also the calmer for it.

The feeling had left his hands long ago, the pair still wrapped tight around the steering wheel, his anchor in the emotional storm. He concentrated on his fingers, willing them to move one by one. Blood flowed back into them bringing tingling pain. He focused solely on that. Not on where he was, or why he was, only on getting his hands free.

He let them slide onto his lap once they were loose, the tingling moving from his fingers to his palms, muscles jerking in small spasms all the way up to his elbows. He waited them out, grimacing occasionally, not in a hurry for anything.

Once they eased, he took in a long, deep, shuddering breath. He still had no idea how he would do this thing.

Sam shuffled his feet and heard a clinking noise beneath the seat. His brow gathered in confusion for a moment then smoothed as he remembered the whiskey bottles he'd stashed there earlier.

The thought of the liquor made him suddenly thirsty. As if it were being pulled out from a secret niche, he remembered he already had an open bottle on the front seat, hidden in the paper sack at his side. But there were other things inside that sack, things he couldn't deal with, so he reached for one of the bottles beneath the seat instead.

Staring only at the full container, at the golden liquid sloshing quietly inside, he removed the paper and cap and took a long drink. As the alcohol wormed its way down, he gave it no time to settle before he sent more behind it. He was in the middle of nowhere, alone, he didn't have to hold back any more. He gulped the whiskey down until he almost choked.

Sam sat as the minutes ticked by and the alcohol inch by inch deadened his tongue, his throat, finally reaching the point where he could no longer taste the bile of disgust rising inside him over his cowardice.

Warmth slowly seeped its way from his insides on out. He felt oddly relaxed, more relaxed than he'd been in weeks, maybe months.

What was the big deal? He could do this thing. Wasn't Dean at his most reckless when he was most afraid? And he'd spent the last year trying to be more like his big brother, right? So reckless was the operative word of the day. And like the Cowardly Lion with his paper from the Wizard, Sam had his courage right here. He lifted the half empty bottle and stared at it, showing it off to the night.

He took another deep swallow and it burned all the way down.

Smooth…

Switching the bottle to his other hand, he slapped the paper bag open and reached inside for the dreaded tin box. Tucking it under his arm without looking at it, he switched the bottle back and reached for the door's handle. He pushed it open.

Cold air rushed in, but he barely felt it, fully cocooned by the alcohol's illusionary warmth. Taking another swig, he pulled himself out of the car and took a looming step away from it.

That wasn't so hard now, was it?

Sam kept his gaze glued to the pebbled road and stepped forward. The air was quiet and tranquil. Nothing at all broke the stillness around him. The stench of whiskey covered him like a cloak, with the scent of oozing yet denied fear lying not far underneath.

Without even looking he knew when he reached the dead center of the crossroads. He didn't know if it was his demon blood, the alcohol, or his imagination, but he could feel the place, the nexus of power beneath his feet. He tipped the bottle up for another long draw, his insides quivering, and then dropped down to his knees.

_Time to get this show on the road! _

He set the tin box down, still unable to look at it, and keeping a tight hold on the whiskey bottle, on his courage, used his free hand to dig. The soil was loose, moist, easy to scoop out. Almost like it had been waiting for him. It both amused and annoyed him. Who knew it would be so simple to throw his life away?

He was going to do this thing. He was going to do it! Just hang on a little longer, Dean.

He stared at the hole before him a moment then grabbed and dragged the box in, the small tin feeling much heavier than it had when he carried it over. His eyes burned as he stared at the thing, knowing he was but moments away from everything finally being done. Soon he could stop feeling, remembering, hurting.

He scooped up the dirt piled up beside him and shoved it back over the box.

_Don't do this, Sam. You can still stop this!_

His mouth curled with distaste, amazed the stupid voice of reason was still trying to argue with him. He wasn't weak! He would not falter.

Sam stood up, pushing up with his legs while half supporting himself against the ground with his free hand, not feeling entirely steady. He took another swig of whiskey, his insides cramping and shifting, the fear still poking at him even through the growing buzz and numbness of the alcohol.

He moved his shoe to shovel more dirt over the box while taking another drink. He kicked at the ground, spraying the rocks and dirt, just wanting this done. He almost fell over and was forced to lean back on his left foot to steady himself, then kicked at the dirt again with his right. Though he was in the open, he felt the bright night pressing down around him, his last view of the world desolate and empty. He could hear his own breathing rushing in and out, the terror at what would soon follow trying hard to make him look at it, telling him he could still get away. Self loathing rushed up right behind it. He had made a _promise_. He was going to save his brother -- no matter what!

Sam looked up expectantly, swaying where he stood, the deed done. The moon glowered overhead, a silent witness to his coming sacrifice. Aside from the wooden pole with the names of the streets pointing in the four directions, nothing else was standing out there but him, the shadow falling beside him his only companion.

He couldn't believe this.

All the torment, all the angst, the disgust, and the guilt to get him to this point and no one showed. Was he not good enough for them? Was his tainted soul not as tasty as the rest?

Surely they weren't that afraid of him. He crushed the twinge of worry that followed the thought. Surely they knew he no longer had a working demon gun, not since Bella stole it and handed it over to Lilith. Surely they would come deal.

Sam threw his arms wide, just wanting this over with. "Come on!" He yelled this up at the sky, his eyes closed as the stars tried to swirl above him. "Where the hell are you?"

Getting no response he threw the mostly empty bottle towards the wooden street sign, simultaneously angry and scared. That's when he spotted him -- a short man in a rumpled brown suit and loosened tie standing under the old rusted daisy light post.

"I was wondering whether to come or not. I mean, you shot one of my coworkers."

Sam blinked several times, trying to focus his eyes, feeling suddenly cold sober, realizing one of them had actually come. This was it. This was what he wanted. One of them was _here_. All he had to do was seal the deal. Then all of this would be over. But he needed to think. _Think_. He closed his eyes for a moment trying to rally his brain, pushing down on the horror of what he was about to do, the pain of all that was riding on whatever he did next. He didn't dare screw this up. One false move and he could end up dead and still not help Dean.

Staring at the demon, knowing what was at stake and whose fault it was that made it necessary in the first place bubbled up his hatred for all their kind, overriding his fears, his doubts, and therefore doing what the alcohol had not. It tapped into the ever present Winchester stubbornness reserve and locked his will, all thoughts of backing out suddenly obliterated. He would _do_ this thing and do it gladly.

Sam half staggered half walked toward the voice, not yet able to see him clearly.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Sam, but you don't look so hot, buddy." The demon had his hands in his pockets, sounding both amused and concerned. "Guess burying your brother didn't agree with you." His eyes flashed red.

Now that he was closer, Sam could make out more details about the demon's meat suit. The guy looked to be in his thirties, with a receding hairline, dark eyes and hair, with a few days growth on his face as if he'd gone on a weekend drinking binge.

Sam stared at the demon, coming to a stop by one of the overturned electric wire coil holders. It didn't escape him that the demon was keeping his distance. It was such vile irony that they could be afraid of him, though he had no control over whatever powers Azazel might have bestowed on him, and he was half smashed on top of it even if he'd had a clue. It was oddly amusing.

Come on demon, let's make a deal. He spread his arms out not caring what the bastard thought of him in the least. There was business to be done. It's what they lived for. He dropped his arms. "Well?"

"Well, let's see that special little knife of yours first." The demon hadn't moved an inch from where he first appeared.

Sam sneered, the irony of the situation still poking at him. He wished his bad press could have been even a bit true, for then he wouldn't have to go to such extremes. If this demon wanted it, Sam knew he'd be dead in two seconds, yet the one showing caution was the one who in reality had the upper hand.

Demons afraid of him. If they only knew. It would have been laughable if it weren't so totally ludicrous. He made sure not to look at the demon directly or he would laugh in his face. He pulled the knife out from under his shirt and hoodie where it rested at the small of his back and showed it to him, then slammed it down onto the side of the spindle before him. He wouldn't want the bastard to feel threatened.

The demon still didn't look reassured. This was only getting stupid. He wasn't here to kill the blasted thing! "No Devil's Traps either." Sam sent him an angry look daring him to call him a liar.

He saw the demon look away almost as if embarrassed. The guy was going to bolt on him. Sam's face flushed with a new kind of fear.

"I'm not here to play games." He pumped as much conviction into his words as he could. He tried hard not to sound desperate, though he was becoming more so by the moment. His heart skipped a beat when the demon took a leisurely step forward.

"Well, let me guess…You want to make a deal?" He moved closer.

Sam felt his pulse speed up. He was elated and quivering inside all at once and tried his best not to show it. Of course he wanted a deal! It was the only hope he had.

The demon looked amused. "And round and round the Winchesters go." He still had his hands in his pockets as he swaggered towards him, keeping the tipped spindle between them. He was smirking by the time he sauntered up to the opposite side, his red and white spotted tie the most colorful thing around them, like a hungry tongue waiting to get a taste.

Coming to a stop, the demon finally took his hands out of his pockets and set them flat on the rotting wood, putting his weight behind them.

Sam glanced down at them for less than a moment, noting exactly where they were placed in front of him.

"Sorry, Sam. That's not gonna happen."

He felt the creature's gaze lock on his, wanting to lap up his misery as it denied him. Sam looked away, wanting to roll his eyes. This smug bastard hadn't dealt with the Winchesters before or he'd know better than to do this. He was about to learn his lesson the hard way.

Hand darting forward, Sam grabbed the knife off the spindle and with a grimace drove it with all the force at his disposal down through the middle of the demon's hand, pinning him to the wood beneath. Golden sparks flew between them as the metal and demon infused flesh met. Sam put both hands on the blade as the demon's screams rang in his ears to hold the knife down as the latter writhed in pain.

The demon brought his free hand over in an attempt to liberate himself, but Sam had no problem batting it away. It was time.

"I don't want ten years. I don't want one year. I don't want candy. I want to trade places with Dean." Figuratively and literally if necessary. Dean's body was toast. But if Sam was going to Hell, they could put Dean's soul back in his empty body if that's what it took to bring him back.

Now that the moment was here, that he heard the actual words leave his lips, he felt his being align behind them 100%. He would do this thing without hesitation or regret.

The demon looked him straight in the eye. "No." It was emphatic. Total.

It sent a bolt of shock through Sam. What the hell was this? These things were self serving to a fault. "_Just take me_! It's a fair trade."

The demon's eyes seemed to lighten, filled with manic glee. "No."

He smiled at Sam and the smile grew wider as he watched. As if the demon were feeding on his growing confusion.

"Why not?" This didn't make any sense. The demon should have been salivating over this. To be the one who took his soul to Lilith? What higher honor was there? "Lilith wants me dead. Just let Dean go and she can have me."

"Don't you understand, Sam?" The smile was back again as if he knew things Sam didn't. "It's not about your soul." The hungry eyes kept staring at him. "Dean's in Hell right where we want him. We've got everything _exactly_ the way we want it."

Sam could only stare, hearing the words but their meaning not making any sense. How in blazes would it benefit them to keep Dean in the pit?

"You wanna kill me? Go ahead." The mad glee shone like a bright light from his face. "I've made peace with _my Lord_."

He was serious. The demon was totally serious. This wasn't some game, some ruse. He really, truly wasn't going to deal. After all the agony, all the arguing, the bullshit he had to do and tell himself to get here, that faint trail of hope that had been the only thing keeping him halfway together since the fiasco with the Devil's Gate, was gone? The world had gone mad. Irrevocably mad and no one had told him.

His hold on the knife tightened, his free hand rising to cover his eyes as a thin veil of protection from the reality being forced on him.

What had all this been for then? It'd been as useless as every other single thing he'd tried. Useless. Just like him. Dean would not be coming back. His promise would remain broken.

His hand dropped, his eyes opening again.

_And it was this creature's fault._

Sam's body shook but not from fear or cold, but rage, pure undiluted rage.

Never taking his eyes off the demon, he leaned forward as he yanked the knife out of the demon's hand and lodged it as deep as it would go into the bastard's throat. He watched with growing satisfaction at the look of pain that crossed the stolen face and as the light went out of the demon's eyes when he fell twitching to the ground, gold light flashing from the gaping wound as the creature's essence was completely obliterated.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It was done.

It was over.

There was nothing left.

Sam stared at the still shuddering body on the ground, the meat suit's blood oozing from the gaping wound at its throat to pool around the body, soaking slowly into the dirt. But it wasn't just a meat suit, was it? Though there had been a demon inside it, it had also been a man, with a life, a family.

His rage sputtered and died, spent. His face felt suddenly heavy, drooping, as the realization trickled down as to what he had done.

Yet another innocent life taken by his hands. And he had nothing to show for it, nothing with which to validate the unwilling sacrifice.

The fact that a great evil had been removed meant next to nothing. There were more where he'd come from. There would always be more. All Sam had done tonight was steal the life of an innocent. Added another victim to his rage and impotence.

He staggered back away from the body, the bloodied demon killing knife falling from numb fingers to the ground.

Once again he'd accomplished absolutely nothing. Dean hadn't been freed from Hell and Sam was still alive. _He was still alive_. He couldn't even manage to die correctly. And it wasn't even the first time he'd failed at it. How pathetic was that?

His breath rushed in and out the cold fogging it around him as if trying to shield him from seeing the things he had done. He had failed. Again. _Again. AGAIN!_

And there was nothing more to try, nothing else to do. Dean was dead. Gone forever.

His chest hurt, Dean's amulet pressing hot against his skin, a yawning pit sucking everything down inside it. His breath still rushed in and out much too fast. His hands and feet were tingling, even his lips. He was hyperventilating and he knew it and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop it. He had failed!

His brain pounded in his head and he staggered again feeling suddenly lightheaded and dizzy.

Pain flared on his rear and hands from rocks and dirt as he found himself half sprawled on the road with no idea how he got there. Darkness nibbled at the edges of his consciousness and he knew if he didn't do something soon he would pass out.

Sam rocked himself over to his hands and knees and tried hard to slow down his breathing, to relax, even as a part of him wondered why he even bothered. But he knew why, even as he hated himself for it, heat flushing his face with shame – because he was glad to be alive. He was glad to still be here, despite all his resolve and all his plans. He was _alive_. And his brother would spend the rest of eternity being tortured in Hell because of him.

He turned and stared up at the sky, the realization of what he'd have to live with percolating up, scorching him from the inside out until he thought every last molecule inside him would fly apart into the night.

"DEEEEEEEEAAAAAAANNNNN!"

Throat raw, Sam folded in on himself, fingers digging into the ground. His eyes burned but no tears would come. He had no more to give. Yet the pain wasn't any less than before, if anything it was sharper, went deeper. Something he would not have thought possible before.

It was over. Dean was gone and Sam would never get him back. He was alone. And it was only a matter of time before Lilith or her minions found him and took away the gift Dean had so dearly paid to give him.

_Sammy…_

"Don't you dare…Don't you dare!" He shook his head violently from side to side, his throat raw and burning and it meant nothing.

He wobbled up to his feet, suddenly wanting away from there. The demon's death wouldn't have gone unnoticed. Lilith would suspect who was responsible. She would send demons here to come after him.

For half a moment he was tempted to sit back down and let them, then stiffened in disgust. What a coward he was. What a coward he'd always been. Everything would be so much easier if he just let her kill him, wouldn't it? How very convenient. How very weak of him. And hadn't he just been pining away about Lilith taking away Dean's gift, and yet here he was considering just waiting for her? His self loathing rose to new heights, slapping him like a physical blow.

_Coward_. Liar. Ingrate.

He stumbled to the body, grabbing the man by the armpits and dragging him around to the back of the gas station, the pooled blood on the man's clothes sticky on his fingers. The employee entrance was boarded up, but the door opened inwards so he kicked it at lock level, the old wood weak. There was enough space at the bottom of the boards for him to shove the body through. Before he did so, however, he forced himself to search the man's pockets for his wallet.

An unwanted image of a similar search for the Impala's keys just days before sent waves of nausea rushing through him. He had to close his eyes and take several deep breaths before he could push the feeling away. He took all the money out of the wallet not bothering to count it. Then he looked down at the driver's license to see whose life he'd destroyed.

His name had been Larry Waldrop.

"Sorry, Larry." Sam stared at the dead, slack face. "This wasn't how I wanted things to happen." He folded the wallet again then threw it out into the brush as far as he could. Saying a prayer over the body, he shoved it inside the station then pulled the door shut, before hastily wiping away his fingerprints from the door handle.

Coward. _Liar_. Ingrate.

On the other side of the building, he scuffed some of the dirt over the blood to hide it. He doubted anyone would come here aside from demons, but it was better not to take any chances – or so he kept telling himself. He spotted Ruby's knife on the ground and shambled toward it.

He stared at the blade with distaste but knew he had little choice. Though it killed the host with the demon, it did destroy the foul beasts. It was his one chance for survival now that both the Colt and its replacement were either no longer working or gone. A grisly smile twitched at his face as he wondered if Lilith would decide to someday use the gun on him now that she knew he was immune to her power. Wouldn't that be the height of irony. Using such a unique weapon to kill a measly tainted human when any old gun would do.

He picked up the knife, not quite trying to fall over, staring at the bloodied blade.

This would kill him just as easily as the revolver. A slice across the throat would do it. His life's blood would seep into the ground to be reused by nature, his corpse eaten and broken down into usable components. The veritable Circle of Life.

He stared at the blade, well acquainted with its sharpness, with the place it would do the most damage, with the amount of force it would take to cut through flesh and arteries. The position would be awkward, but he could manage it. So what if he suffered for a while? It wouldn't compare to what he'd already gone through. He raised the blade higher.

Sam caught his pale reflection on the engraved steel as it neared his throat. His hand started to shake. His life was the gift Dean had given him. The reason his brother was in Hell. The reason Dean would be in Hell for all _eternity_. And here he was again trying to piss it away and this time for absolutely no return whatsoever.

He closed his eyes, swaying where he stood.

Coward. Liar. _Ingrate_.

Sam lowered his hand and after wiping the blade over his jeans, tucked it behind his hoodie at the small of his back, making sure it was totally out of sight before he dared to open his eyes again.

Staring only at the ground, he wove his way back towards the Impala.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The leather seat beneath him felt ice cold as he slid into the car. He could feel the leather's icy fingers reaching up through the fabric of his jeans, numbing his legs.

Sam started the engine, but didn't turn the heater on. Numb was good. Totally numb from head to toe would be marvelous. He stepped on the gas, throwing up rocks and dirt behind him as he drove out.

Something hit his side as he turned the car around in a wide circle, and he frowned at the paper bag he found beside him. Then he remembered what was still inside it. He wove on the road as he tore the bag in two with one hand in his sudden mad hurry to get at what was there.

He grabbed the partially empty bottle and trapping it between his thighs, unscrewed the cap and threw it away, knowing the contents wouldn't last long enough to need it again. A tiny voice way deep inside him tried to tell him to stop. That he was driving. That this was dangerous. That Dean wouldn't like it.

He ignored it. He _needed_ this. Needed what was inside the bottle and the effects it would afford more than worrying about what his _dead_ (gone – never to come back – never to complain – never to bring him to task for it anyway) brother would want.

He tipped the bottle up before it fully reached his mouth, splashing whiskey on his face and shirt as well as down his welcoming throat.

For the first time ever he understood why his father drank like he had. It'd had nothing to do with erasing the bad memories of his mother's death as Sam had always assumed. No, it'd all been about silencing the guilt, to make it stop screaming as he failed again and again to find information on what had killed her. To numb his brain until the fact he was impotent didn't make him feel like there was a hot iron in his gut twisting his insides. To give his mind a few moments of peace to keep himself from the temptation to dive off the highest rooftop and spread his innards all over the sidewalk and calling it quits.

Sam laughed, half choking, only paying partial attention to the passing road. For someone he never understood growing up, he sure had come to see his father's side of things in the last few years, hadn't he? It was amazing what walking in someone's shoes for a while could do for your sense of perspective. Not that in the end it made any difference whatsoever. _Too little, too late_. As always, the story of his sorry life.

He set the bottle back down between his legs and putting both hands on the wheel glued his gaze to the road.

The drive back to Great Falls was a long unhappy blur. Before he knew it he was back in the motel's parking lot. He stayed in the Impala for a while after he parked, finishing off the last few drops in the bottle of JD.

He wasn't looking forward to going to his room. But he needed to sleep, to rest, most of all to plan. He had to figure out how to stay alive, whether he wanted to or not. Whether it made any difference or not. The sacrifice to keep him on this Earth had been too great not to even try.

Yet he was alone.

Bobby would help him, even with the way he'd ditched him he knew their old friend would take him back, but he couldn't afford it. Bobby was the last one left. He was the only person still alive who knew their whole story, what they'd been through. He couldn't take the chance of putting him in the line of fire just like he had everyone else he'd ever been close to for any amount of time. If he lost Bobby, he would truly be irrevocably alone. There'd be no one left to recall the life of the Winchesters.

The world outside seemed to tilt on its axis when he finally pulled himself out of the car. Sam narrowed his eyes trying focus and make sure he had the motel's front door in his sights before risking moving toward it. He walked in what he hoped was a straight line, but couldn't be sure. Did walking normally take this much concentration?

He'd hardly ever been drunk. Buzzed, sure, but not dead drunk. Once in college, once after Jessica died, and twice since he left Stanford. For three of those he hadn't been far from his bed or there'd been someone to take care of him. This go around, however, there'd be no one. He was on his own. He swallowed hard, suddenly wanting another drink.

Sam reminded himself there were beers in the small fridge waiting for him. He'd drink one of those and then see if he could pass on to oblivion. It was always good to have a goal, a plan. Even those he'd failed at.

He didn't even glance at the front desk as he weaved past. It really would have been helpful if the floor would stop moving or didn't keep trying to slip away from him. He swayed around the corner and spotted the door for his room down the way. He was actually amazed he remembered where it was. He wasn't supposed to have ever come back here again so was rather shocked his brain had bothered.

He leaned against the dark maroon door, propping himself up against the jam, not sure he could stand upright and immobile on his own. He was able to insert the key on the first try and unlocked the door. Amazing what you could do when you tried, huh?

Once inside, he carelessly pushed the door closed behind him. He staggered forward with small steps, never having counted on seeing the inside of this room again or even being alive for that matter. He stopped and blinked, the beeping of muted alarms going off somewhere in the back of his mind. It took him a moment to realize what they even meant and why. Something was off. The room should have felt empty, but didn't.

He half turned, letting his senses lead him toward the problem, only to have pain blossom against his jaw as a fist encountered his face.

The force of the blow spun him around and he fell against the bed's wooden footboard. Sam struggled to push himself back up to his feet, shock and adrenaline trying to fight his alcohol laden brain. He actually saw the man this time before the large fist once more connected against his face.

Before he could attempt to recover, his arms were grabbed from behind and jerked up painfully to immobilize him. Another figure darted out from the side of the kitchenette and smashed him in the stomach with a well placed knee. Pain flared through him yet at the same time felt strangely detached. By the third time the knee impacted against his gut though, he couldn't keep his feet.

Rather than hit the ground, Sam was yanked back up sending more pain shooting down his arms even as nausea rolled over him. He closed his eyes as he tried to fight against the queasiness and pain, while also trying to jump start his brain.

Hands roamed over him, patting him down. He opened his eyes again as wrenching agony raged through his skull when someone grabbed his hair and pulled his head back hard. He felt the demon knife being pulled from its place at the small of his back. A woman's voice rang out close to his ear.

"Thanks for keeping this warm for me, _Sam_."

Unexpected recognition slapped through him though he'd never heard this particular woman's voice before. "Ruby."

Now his night of failure was truly complete.

Sam struggled to get his breath back, to focus his gaze on the woman/demon before him.

"It's nice to be back." Her new meat suit was tall, with a long face and dirty long blond hair. Light gray eyes stared in his direction.

He tried to pay attention but it was hard. The nausea was still trying to make a play. The fact his right arm was still screaming at the pressure being put on it by the guy behind him and his scalp felt like it was on fire weren't helping things much either.

"Where I was, even for Hell, it was nasty." Ruby stared at him talking in a very matter of fact tone. "I guess I really pissed Lilith off."

She brandished the knife close to his face as if showing off a beloved toy.

Sam grunted, slowly pulling himself back together, straining against the demon behind him. Ruby was back. How? Why? And if she could do it, why couldn't he bring Dean back?

"Imagine my relief when she gave me one last chance. I take it topside and all I had to do was find you…" She sounded smug. As if the request were something she could do in her sleep. Sam wouldn't have been surprised. It was her magic after all that had kept him and his brother hidden from Lilith's radar. So of course who better for Lilith to send after him than Ruby. Heck, it seemed apt somehow.

Though the point of the stolen knife had hovered near his throat during the whole one sided conversation, now it dipped away as Ruby changed her grip on the handle. "And kill you."

His eyes focused on the engraved blade. They'd caught him. The demons had him dead to rights. And now Ruby was offering him the one escape he couldn't give himself. For the first time since he'd killed the demon at the crossroads that night Sam saw a glimmer of light.

"Fine." He shrugged the goon off his arm. "Go ahead."

He took a step forward, the man's other hand still coiled in his hair, his neck pulled back as he moved making it more exposed. He would make this easy for her, just like she was making it easy for him. "Do it."

Sam stared Ruby in the eye and though she wore a slightly older, longer face now, he knew that it was her. He hadn't listened to her when he should have. He'd waited too long to ask to be taught about his powers so he could use them to save Dean. But Ruby could still do this one last thing for him and set him free.

Her lips thinned and he could tell her decision was made. As she pulled her arm back to deliver the killing blow, Sam closed his eyes and prepared for the end. Finally, it would all be over. Finally, he'd get some relief.

He felt the air move and tensed, knowing the blade would pierce his skin and heart in less than a moment. So he was totally surprised when he heard it cut through cloth and embed itself in flesh but he felt nothing. The agonized cry at his side popped his eyes open in astonishment. Sam glanced at Ruby, at the knife, then the man falling to the floor beside him with gold flickering all around the open wound on his chest. The fact Sam hadn't been stabbed, that Ruby had betrayed the one with her instead of him trailed behind the shock and disappointment of having been denied his freedom once again.

"Grab your keys. We'd better go."

No. This couldn't be happening. Not again. He was supposed to be dead, dammit!

"_Now_." Ruby brushed past him heading for the door.

Sam's brain reeled. Nothing made any sense anymore -- nothing.

He was half spun around as Ruby grabbed him by the arm. "I'm not kidding! They'll be coming after us. We have to _move_!"

He blinked at her for a moment, glanced back at the room, the body at his feet, then went for the door.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Sam drove and Great Falls fell quickly behind them. He was feeling more and more sober with each passing second and hated the heck out of it. Once again he was alive when he should be dead. And Ruby, Ruby was with him. Ruby was _free_.

He stared straight ahead out the windshield, not trusting himself, feeling everything and nothing. He made sure to keep his expression totally blank at all times.

Why could she be sent to Hades and spit out again while Dean had to stay and be tortured for eternity? It should be his brother sitting in that seat beside him right now not her. Never her.

"You know what sounds good?"

He didn't react, though her tone was bright and cheery as if they were only out for a nice drive instead of running for their lives. It was like nails scratching on a board inside his ear.

"French Fries." She said the words like the name of a lover.

If there truly was a God, how could he be so cruel? She was a demon -- she had sinned and killed, and done who knew what to whom. Yet she was the one who was free, who'd escaped, not Dean.

"I'm starving. I just escaped from Hell and I deserve a treat."

He could feel her looking at him expectantly. But all he could think about was how it should be his brother sitting there…not her. And he couldn't look at her. If he looked at her he would scream. He would twist the wheel and drive them into the nearest pole or tree. Why did she have to throw the fact of her escape in his face – _again_? Didn't she get it?

"You know…a thank you would be nice."

_A thank you_? For what exactly? Stealing his one way out? For forcing him to keep twisting in his own personal Hell? "Who asked for your help?"

"You have no idea what I've been through."

Sam couldn't have cared less.

"When Lilith gets pissed, she gets creative. You wanna hear about the corners of Hell I've seen, Sam?"

His lip curved up in irritation. He half shook his head the neck muscles bound so tight he expected them to snap at any moment. Her success where he had failed was not a topic he cared to be reminded of or to discuss. "No. I don't."

Ruby was insistent. "And the things I had to do to convince her I was sorry? That I could be trusted?"

What the hell did she want from him? "Well this'll get you a fat Christmas bonus."

He heard her sigh in annoyance and felt her look away from him. It gave him a strange sense of satisfaction.

"Very funny." Her voice dripped with disapproval.

Dean would have thought so. _Definitely_.

"I'm a fugitive for you, Sam."

He groaned inside. No. Not another one. Stupid people doing stupid things and all on his stupid behalf. He'd asked for _none_ of it. Why couldn't they just stop!

"I took all of this risk to get back to you. So yeah, I deserve a damn thank you."

No more debts. No more sacrifices in his name. He was so very tired of it. "Who asked you to save me?"

"I'm just trying to help." There was a healthy dose of confusion underlying her tone.

Well, it was time to set her straight. To point out what was actually important around here.

"Can you help me save Dean?" He hated how the question came out as if there was any hope. As if he meant it. As if he didn't already know the answer.

"No."

Surprise. Surprise.

"Nothing I know of is powerful enough to do that."

Sam nodded his lip twitching as renewed anger and frustration gurgled up inside him despite the fact he already knew all this. Why hadn't she just killed him? What was the point of her even being here?

Suddenly it was just too much. She was a demon, she was free; his brother wasn't. She could be thrown back to Hell and then waltz out again whenever she pleased. She'd done it before -- twice. Yet his brother was trapped down there for eternity. Both wanted by Lilith, both taken by her, yet only Ruby was free. It wasn't _right_. He yanked the wheel of the Impala sharply to the right and pulled over to the side of the road.

"Then I've no use for you." For the first time in the last hour he turned towards her, wanting his feelings to be perfectly clear.

"What?" Her shocked surprise spread all over her face. Except it really wasn't hers, was it?

"Get out."

"Sam…"

"Whose body are you riding, Ruby?" He was only too aware of what had happened to the last one she'd taken for a spin.

She looked even more caught off guard than before. "What do you care? You've never asked me that before."

"I'm asking now." He felt a twinge of guilt and then squashed it. He knew why he'd never asked before. It was because he'd been desperate. Because she'd been his one possible hope, the one ace up his sleeve for the last year as he kept trying to save Dean and kept coming up empty. His weapon of last resort. Because, like his brother, he too could go to scary lengths to try to save his family when necessary. Collateral damage be damned. But he wouldn't do so for his own sake. Enough was enough.

Ruby looked totally off balance and finally mumbled out an answer. "Some secretary."

"Let her go." There'd been enough death and suffering done on his behalf. He wouldn't have any more of it. He wasn't worth it.

"Sam."

"Or I send you right back to Hell." It had to stop. He couldn't take any more of it. It would split him at the seams and send him straight into madness. He would survive or die, but he would do it without taking any more innocents with him. He was done.

He could tell from the way she looked away that she finally realized he meant it.

"You need _me_, Sam. You can't survive on your own."

Sam stared her dead in the face. "Even so." He leaned over and reached past her, opening the passenger door. "Get out."

A parade of emotions flickered past her face – shock, anger, fury, resignation, and one more he couldn't quite read. "As you wish."

The woman leaned her head back and opened her mouth. Black smoke poured from it and out the open door and floated upwards to be lost into the night leaving behind the merest scent of sulfur staining the air.

The woman beside him slumped down for a moment then she straightened up, rapidly blinking her eyes and staring about her in growing confusion.

For the first time in sometime Sam felt he might have finally done something right.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"What…?"

"Do you want a ride or not?" Sam watched the bewilderment grow on the woman's face as she jumped at the sound of his voice. For good or ill he'd gotten Ruby to leave her meat suit, now he had to deal with it. "You were hitching for a ride, so I stopped. Did you change your mind?"

Eyes wide, the woman stared at him then at the darkness outside and back again. "I was hitchhiking?"

He decided to take pity on her. "You look a little lost. Are you all right?"

"Uhm…" She stared at him again, at herself, then back outside. "I, I don't remember how I got here…" Her voice shook and tears glistened in her eyes.

Sam remembered only too well his own confusion when they'd finally gotten Meg out of his possessed body. You knew things had happened to you, that something wasn't right, images of things you couldn't quite remember flashing through your mind. Hopefully Ruby had been merciful and suppressed the woman's consciousness as much as possible while inside her. He'd met enough victims to know it was a different experience depending on the demon. Some liked you to know every last thing they did while inside you, others preferred their games to be private. The will of the possessed had something to do with the degree they remembered as well. "But you're feeling like yourself now, right?"

Her gaze locked on him as if he'd just thrown her a life preserver. Maybe he had. "Yes. Like myself…" She looked down at the hands in her lap as if still not entirely sure.

"Why don't you close the door so we can get going?" He was amazed at how reasonable he sounded after everything that had gone on. But then he'd always been pretty good with masks.

She closed the door then hugged herself. The lost look had yet to leave her face. "Go where?"

Sam wracked his brain to remember what road sign he might have seen last. He hadn't really been paying much attention to where they were going, moving and not looking at Ruby had been all that mattered at the time. "Butte, Montana."

Wide eyes stared at him again. "I'm in _Montana_?"

His slow brain pointed out he had no idea how long Ruby had been free or where they let her out in the first place. He was glad to have been able to help someone, but there was also only so much he could deal with right now. "_Look_, I don't know what drugs you've been taking or what your problem is and honestly, I don't care. I'll take you to Butte, drop you off at a diner or police station or wherever and someone there can help you sort this out. All I signed up for was giving you a ride. Now do you want it or not?"

A lone tear rolled down her shocked face at his brusqueness and she looked away, but made no move to further open the door. There was nothing for her out there -- just fields and trees and darkness. He knew he should feel bad about upsetting her, but it just didn't mean anything to him.

"Yes. Yes, please. I'm sorry." She grabbed the door and closed it.

Sam looked out onto the street out of habit to look for oncoming traffic then stepped on the gas to get them moving.

Out of nowhere, he suddenly wondered what he looked like to her -- some drunk lunatic hanging on by a thread probably. He fought the urge to take a peak in the rearview mirror. He really didn't want to know.

They made it to Butte in twenty minutes. Dawn was just breaking the horizon off to the east in hues of pink and orange.

He'd ignored his passenger as she kept her face averted from him, crying silently for most of the trip. Again he felt he should do or say something, to somehow attempt to help her through this, but he couldn't. He just had nothing. It was all gone, taken from him. He felt raw and prickly and looking for something to set him off. Anything would do. He still had sense enough not to choose her for that though, so he reined it back as much as he could and just kept silent.

He spotted a McDonalds on the right once they drove deeper into town and he headed there. He slipped the Impala into an empty slot but kept the engine running.

"This is your stop."

He heard her gasp in surprise. He didn't look at her.

"They have a payphone just outside. You should be able to call someone if you need to." He allowed himself a quick glance in her direction. She just sat there staring at him, with her red eyes and swollen face. "Do you need money?"

She jerked at that, the thought obviously never having occurred to her. Without looking at him she checked her pockets and came up empty. Sam wasn't surprised. He passed over two twenties he'd pulled from Larry's wallet and even fished out change for the pay phone.

She just stared at him. "Who, who are you?"

"Nobody. Just a guy giving someone a ride." He tried to smile but couldn't be sure if he pulled it off or not. "Go. Call home. They're probably worried about you. Take your life back."

Her lip quivered as she stared at the cash in his hand, then she tentatively reached out and took it. She stared at him again and Sam wondered if she did have some memories of him. Couldn't have made her comfortable if she did.

"Thank you…" Then she was gone.

Sam wasted no time slipping out of the parking lot and driving out of there. Good Samaritan or not, he didn't want to stick around if the secretary decided to go to the cops and they suddenly got the urge to look for him to ask him some questions.

Rather than take I-90 out of town, he got on I-15 and headed south then got off the interstate and wove through lesser roads in the mountains not having any real destination in mind, just wanting away from there and anyone who might be looking for him.

The day brightened with color bursting from the seams. Different shades of green leaves, brown trunks, bare hills and mountain sides glittering with exposed chips of digenite, enargite, covellite, quartz and even copper filled his eyes no matter where he looked. And though normally he would have been fascinated, it meant nothing to him today. He saw it all as if through a grey veil. What was the point of seeing anything wonderful if he couldn't tease Dean about not appreciating it? He wouldn't get to talk about some of the unusual deposits found here with no brother to show even a passing inkling of interest. He wouldn't even be able to give his brother ammunition so Dean could tease him and call him a college geek again. Without him all of it was just meaningless stuff.

Sam stopped in Sheridan only long enough to buy some food and get a few more bottles of forgetting. The name of the place he stopped at made him unexpectedly ache deep inside, his brother's amulet growing heavy, knowing Dean would have gotten more than a little thrill out of it. Booze and Buns – the name pretty much said it all. His brother would have been all over it, making jokes or innuendoes on the name alone for at least an hour. Sam peeled away as fast as he was able.

This was how his life would be from now on. Full of torture and regrets, thinking about what Dean would have made of things and hurting every time because he'd never get the opportunity. Why couldn't Ruby have just followed through and be done with it? Demons helping humans. Others sacrificing themselves for religious causes. Nothing made any sense anymore! And how could Dean be exactly where Lilith wanted him to be? What did that _mean_? Dean was just a human, unlike him with his demon tampered genes.

After a few more hours of driving, the road started blurring in front of him. He was running on fumes but didn't know how to stop. Yet he had no choice. He pulled off the road into a weed infested dirt road until he was out of sight of the main street then shut the car down.

He forced some food down his throat and followed that with a heavy dose of booze. Locking up the car from the inside, he folded himself as best he could in the back seat and after a few more sips of whiskey, closed his eyes and tried to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

_You left me down here to rot, you bastard! Your promises meant squat, Sam. When I evolve, and I hope it happens fast, I'm coming after your ass! Then there'll be some payback._

Sam jerked awake, smacking his head against the door and his knees against the back of the bench seat. Cold sweat covered him from head to toe and he sat up shivering. Warm sunlight poured in through the back window, the sun having shifted position since he stopped, but he couldn't feel it. His breath heaved in and out, his brother's accusing words still slamming in his head.

Dean turning into a demon… Could that be the plans they had for him? The mere thought sent ice running through his veins.

Suddenly the air was too close in the car; the horrid thoughts too solid. He needed to, had to, _get out_.

He fumbled with the lock on the door, his gestures growing more frantic by the moment as he bungled the simple task. When the door opened, he half fell out of the car and then stumbled away from it. His stomach roiled with acid and half digested food. His insides cramped and he fell to his knees with a groan. Without warning, it all wanted out. He barely had time to turn his head before vomit erupted from his mouth to stain the grass and fallen leaves around him.

The acrid odor slapped his face and made his eyes water. He heaved up everything inside him and then some. His head pounded, his limbs shook. He tried to move once it seemed he was finished, but his body betrayed him and dumped him on the grass. Every breath burned as it traveled past his abused throat. He felt weak, his strength taken as he emptied his insides. His muscles felt as if they'd turned into water and would never be solid again.

He needed to hole up somewhere, to go through the motions of trying to put himself back together. But for now, it appeared he wasn't going anywhere. Sam let himself go totally limp.

After a couple of minutes, he managed to half turn onto his side and curled up into a ball. He concentrated on breathing in and out, focusing on the pain in his raw throat, shutting out everything else.

A short while later, he risked moving and found that he actually could. Crawling on hands and knees, he made it back to the Impala. He found a half drunk bottle of warm water rolling on the floorboard of the back seat and chugged down most of it, not bothering to waste any on rinsing out his mouth though it made the liquid taste foul as it made its way past his lips and tongue.

He was able to raise himself shakily to his feet not long after that.

Using the Impala for support, Sam made his way back to the driver's seat. He sighed in utter relief, his eyes closing of their own volition, as he sunk into the warmed leather. He felt the car's presence all around him, familiar and comforting. It was strange, but he didn't question it, just glad it was there even if it were just a figment of his messed up brain.

Eventually, he opened his eyes again and straightened in the seat. He fished the keys out of his pocket and closed the driver's door, making sure the window was rolled all the way down.

He drove down 287 through Laurin, then sped through the small town of Ruby, the name alone trying to conjure up things he had no intention of thinking about, until he hit Ennis. There he got gas at the Town Pump Food Store, quickly using their facilities to make himself slightly more presentable, and also picked up supplies as well as the local paper. Pit Stop Pizza provided food and he ate a few slices from one of several boxes while sitting in the Impala. Then he tried to force his brain to think.

The bag of booze in the back kept calling to him, making the task harder. They had their own deep presence and he was horribly aware of exactly where they were. But the incident earlier had reminded him of the dangers of alcohol poisoning. He would be drinking again, of that there was no doubt, but he needed to learn to pace himself, to keep the numbness even. And he'd only be able to figure that out once he had a place to crash.

He would check the local tax appraiser's website and if that came up empty he'd go by the local County Clerk's office to dig for a list of homes with liens and back due taxes. A lot of the same methods people used to find deals on properties to buy and resell could be employed, and with a lot less research, when you just needed a place to hole up at. The less picky you were about the house's condition, the easier to find one. And picky was the farthest thing from his mind right now – anything would do, anything at all.

It felt good to be doing something, though 'good' was overstating it. It just felt better than doing nothing. Wiping greasy fingers on his jeans, he reached down to the floorboard for his backpack and the laptop. He plugged the charger into the lighter plug. Less than fifteen minutes later, he'd found a likely candidate -- a one story house outside of town on the other side of the river off of Cemetery Loop road. Somehow it seemed apt to hide there. If the fates weren't with him the place could very well become his grave.

Calling up a map to show him how to get there, Sam started up the car and went on his way.

The place was down a black topped private road that had obviously not been taken care of for some time. There were a few sparse trees, some high grass, but not much else to call attention to the area. Even so, it still felt isolated, outside the mainstream, and a lot like he did – abandoned and alone. The house itself looked to have been an eighties affair, an amalgamation of suburbia and ranch house but ended up looking like neither -- five feet of faded red brick topped by peeling wood and a shingled roof. The windows appeared to be mostly broken and boarded up. The weather hadn't been kind to the place either. It had obviously been ignored for years.

He parked the Impala in the back to make sure it would be out of sight to anyone who might decide to venture down the private road. The tire iron helped him make short work of the boards over the back door. The front hadn't been sealed, only locked, and that would be easily undone from the inside.

He searched the joint, his Taurus close at hand as well as the demon knife. Master bedroom, two smaller bedrooms, what might have been an office, then an open dining area adjacent to a kitchen, but that also opened up into a similar sized family room with a fireplace. He heard the scurrying of rats or mice, their feces little clumps in corners or in trails leading to the walls. The wallpaper was faded to the point one couldn't tell what the original pattern on it was. The paint was weathered, worn, and peeling with only enough color left to give a hint of what it once might have been.

Strangely, as drab and gray as the place looked, it was airy and didn't smell much. Though he was sure it had never been the intention, ivy had made its home on the slats covering the empty window frames in the dining room and cascaded indoors in a lush, green curtain.

He'd gotten lucky. Looked like the place must have belonged to someone that died, the relatives scavenging for what they wanted and dumping in it things they didn't, then leaving all else behind -- empty picture frames, beaten end tables, but better yet a heavy dining room table and set of mismatched chairs. There was even a bumpy couch in the family room, though the recliner also in there was toast.

Sam found himself feeling oddly at ease here – nestled in this place of forgotten memories and neglect – a mirror image of how he felt. It would do rather nicely.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

He took his first drink after bringing in the jugs of water, packaged snacks, and the leftover pizza. This would be his Sanctum Sanctorum or his Buzz House, depending on mood and time of day. There was no electricity and no water, but neither concerned him. He'd squatted in abandoned houses plenty of times before. More than he cared to count over the last year, actually. A couple had even been better than most of the places they usually paid to stay in.

Methodically, he timed his drinks and kept track of the alcohol's effects even as he went around and used the kitchen's shelf space and brought in almost everything out of the Impala's trunk. Though he'd meant to get around to it previously yet never had, this seemed like the perfect time to finally get that inventory list going. Compartmentalize, really know what he had at his disposal, put some order into the chaos of their stuff. He needed to know more than ever what he had to work with and what he might be lacking.

He finally found a plateau where the buzz was numbing and he had to concentrate to think, yet old ingrained habits could still be done without going so far. He put his brain into limbo and liked it. Only at night, when he slept, did his routine suffer, plaguing him with horrid dreams filled with screams, accusations, and worse. So he stopped. He took naps several times through the day and night -- enough to keep him functional and never long enough to let the alcohol wear down. His days and nights blurred together but it didn't matter. He wasn't really a part of the world anymore.

Bobby called him again on the second day. Seeing his name on the caller ID was like a slap in the face. He stared at the thing tempted to answer despite himself – feeling a sudden burning need to confess to his latest set of failures, to unburden his soul. Instead he dropped the phone on the floor and crushed it with his heel until it rang no more. He would keep Bobby out of this, like he'd decided. There would be no one else added to his cursed list.

He cancelled his number a few hours later, deciding he had no real need for indirect human contact anymore. Bobby was too smart. Sooner or later he would have figured out a way to trace him with it. It'd been done to him before, but it was a lifeline he no longer needed or deserved.

Sam set up a routine, kept to it like clockwork. Two shots of whiskey. One cup of bottled water to brush his teeth and shave at six. Katas and exercises till eight. Breakfast with two more shots, then a nap. Work on inventory or weapons till noon. Two more shots and lunch. Another nap. Whiskey tie over. Look for activity on the web for signs of pursuit or omens till four. More medicine. If needed, go to a nearby town for supplies or scam for funds, or stay and do more research. Shots. And on it went. It was comfortable, different, under his total control, brainless.

After almost a week it felt like he'd been living this way forever. Stanford was but a mirage, a drug induced trip. Dean, his father, their lives, something he'd dreamed. All there was now was order, control, suppression. Plans were cooked up and discarded one after another. He was being hunted. Alone he had little chance, not unless he could come up with something to give him an advantage. The Colt would have given him that, the knife did not, though it was definitely better than nothing. He would look for an edge, perhaps even find it. Then he would have direction. But not yet. Not now. His brother wanted him to live, so he would live. Dean had never said anything about the quality of life it had to be though.

Sam sat down at the table, the weapons' cleaning kit open before him. He'd been surreptitiously cleaning all the guns over the last two days, taking hours with each one, making sure each weapon was at its maximum. He laid down the shotgun he carried with him at all times on his right then unwrapped a soft cloth before him to start. He picked up the Colt 1911 and was happy to note his hands didn't shake, that his insides didn't quiver. The fact this was his brother's favorite weapon was only knowledge. That it had saved Dean or himself time and again only fact. It was but a thing. A tool to be used when needed then discarded. Emotion was a chain -- a series of links. And they could be broken or disconnected.

Systematically, he took the gun apart and started cleaning it.

The pearl handle, the etched finish -- trappings, like clothes on a person. Something to make the gun seem unique, yet at its base it had only one function, one purpose – it was a weapon, a dealer of death. That his brother had chosen it for his own was a mere move of whimsy. Illogical on the surface but with one undeniable purpose beneath. Now it was but another item in Sam's inventory, to be used or ignored as he saw fit.

The smell of mildew seemed stronger that morning. He couldn't recollect if it had rained last night or not. Aside from his routine, and the dry ache that seemed such a part of him anymore, he didn't seem capable of holding onto much of anything. He wasn't even sure if the Meaty Pie pizza boxes across the table were empty or full or how long they'd been there. The empty beer bottles and the level of the whiskey were his new way of keeping track of time. When they were close to empty, he knew it was time to get more. Food usually followed as well only because it would help keep him functioning.

Leaves rustled on the floor from a mild breeze coming through the ivy curtain infesting the boarded up windows of the dining room. Rays of sunlight brightened the room, but he stared at them dully, though at one time he would have been pleased by the beauty they brought to such a dilapidated place. Bird song filled the air, making the scene incredibly idyllic. It meant absolutely nothing to him. It was as if he were living in the world but was no longer a part of it -- not that he hadn't felt that way to some degree or other for most of his life.

With a shake of his head he loosened the spiraling thoughts and sent them away. He turned his attentions back to the 1911 and the exposed barrel. Reaching into the tool kit, he pulled out a small scraper to work on some miniscule build up when a knock echoed back to him from the front door.

Sam tensed, his jaw clenching, yet he calmly put the 1911 and the utensil down as if he had all the time in the world. He wasn't entirely surprised he had visitors -- had been expecting some for a while. His muddled brain though brought up the point that it wasn't usual for the killers he was expecting to knock. He ignored this, not caring one way or the other, and reached for the shotgun sitting at the edge of the table.

This was it. Maybe today would be the day. He took a deep breath then cocked the shotgun one handed with a jerk of his arm as he moved to stand up. He turned to the right, already feeling sorry for the SOB who'd decided to intrude on his day.

Taking the open doorway on the left, he walked silently along the house's long hallway. The wooden floor beneath him was discolored in the middle, as if a runner had graced its length for years at some point. Peeling dark cream paint waved at him from the door frames, faded green flakes hung from the runners. The leaves had intruded everywhere, covering his path like flowers petals dropped down a wedding aisle. Empty picture frames leaned up against the floor. Faded and torn wallpaper spoke of happier times long gone. He _was_ this house. If ever he'd had a home, this would be it. The two of them together, passing time, ignoring the outside world, falling apart piece by miniscule piece.

He approached the front of the house in no particular hurry. He turned left at the end of the hallway into the foyer. The front door was washed out and worn, just like everything else in the place, including him. He placed the end of the barrel of the shotgun against the door on his side, then reached for the knob to open it and take a look outside and see who'd come to visit.

A confident young woman stood before him with dark eyes and long wavy brown hair wearing a black leather jacket and jeans. Her gaze met his and he found himself feeling actual surprise as she acted as if she knew who he was and had been well aware that he was there. She opened her mouth to speak to him, turning a piece of paper in his direction so he might read it. He could only stare, wondering if she had the faintest idea how her life hung by the merest thread at the moment, that a little pressure from his finger was all that was standing between her and a shotgun blast through a rotten door.

Sam was sure he'd never laid eyes on her before. He glanced down at the paper, most of his attention still on her, and noted that it was a patient medical information form for a Doe, Jane.

"Proof!" The girl tilted her head, a playful smile on her lips. "This body is 100% socially conscious."

He glanced back up into her face, hearing the words, but unable to make much sense of them.

"I recycle." She stated it as if that alone would make everything clear.

He was shocked, a vicious suspicion dredging up past the alcohol as to whom this woman might be. Yet it couldn't be right.

He was too stunned to even try to stop her as she pushed on past and sauntered into the house.

She turned and looked at him a smug expression on her face. "Al Gore would be proud." She slapped the paper into his hand.

His mind boggling, Sam stared at it again, even as he shut the door with the barrel of the shotgun. There was only one person he knew of who could find him so easily and who had the balls to just act like she owned the place, despite the way they'd parted company. He'd honestly thought he'd never see her again. But Ruby was back. How? Why? "You got a coma patient?"

Ruby walked in front of him, curiously giving the place the once over as she went along. "You didn't want me to take a body with someone in it, and I made sure that the spirit was gone."

Could things get any crazier? She'd done it. She'd actually listened to him and done it. She'd found a body without a soul. That she would bother to go to all the trouble astounded him more than he would have thought. It couldn't have been easy. So why…?

"The apartment was empty. You happy?" The glib tone covered with an undercurrent of annoyance told him more than anything as to how much trouble this had caused her.

No way had she done this for him though. No demon would care enough to bother. There was something she wanted. Something that somehow he was the only one able to give or get for her – he just had no idea what. "Why are you here?"

Ruby had walked down the hall and straight into the dining room. Almost as if she already knew everything there was to know about the place. He wouldn't have been surprised.

Sam stopped at the doorway, watching her warily as she glanced at the contents of the heavy table.

She turned around after a moment to glance back his way. "Look, I can't bring Dean back."

He ignored the blunted pang brought up by her words, instead tilting his head and giving her a half eye roll. How about telling him something he didn't already know?

She avoided his unspoken question and he knew it and made sure his expression told her so.

Ruby glanced down and away. "But I can get you something else that you want."

He very much doubted that. Despite this though, he actually found himself curious as to what this _demon_ thought he might want. "Huh."

Sam half moseyed half dragged his feet to the room's other side. He dropped the shotgun on the table as well as her paper of authenticity. "And, uh…" He picked up the closest whiskey bottle, feeling oddly amused working up to this. He was very much looking forward to shooting whatever it was she brought up down. "Heh." He couldn't help but laugh at the thought. He stared right at her. A bitter smile played on his lips. "What's that?"

Ruby didn't appear impressed by his attitude. Tough.

"Lilith."

Whatever he'd been feeling before just dried up and blew away. Just hearing the name made him want to hurt something. Hate filled his vision like a living thing. He shouldn't have been astounded that Ruby would realize he'd want payback, but he was. And why she'd come to him specifically was now also crystal clear. If his head had been on straight he would have figured all this out before she ever even opened her mouth.

The worried expression he saw on her face wasn't like her either. But then again, she was desperate, wasn't she? Lilith was on her list as much as his, and she didn't have the power to take her down, while he might. The demon leader had in some way or other been her target all along. Ruby only thought of Sam as he did the Colt or the demon killing knife, a tool to be used. And he was a living weapon that could maybe kill demons if tempered correctly – by using the abilities supposedly given to him by his tainted blood. "You want me to use my psychic whatever."

"Look, I know that it spooks you."

She knew nothing. He only had one thing left to him – his hate. And until this moment, he'd not honestly thought he would ever find a way to let it free, to get revenge. Not being impotent, to use all the weapons at his disposal – THAT was what he wanted more than anything. "Skip the speech."

The flabbergasted look on her face was almost worth it.

"Let's go." He needed an edge. And here was Ruby, ready for him to use guilt free because the body she rode had no soul, no innocent inside to get burned. There was no reason, _none_ whatsoever to hold back anymore.

"Slow down there, cowboy."

"Just tell me what I've got to do." He needed a purpose, a direction. This was what he'd been waiting for. Hunting down Lilith and making her pay for taking Dean would fit the bill _perfectly_.

Ruby looked away. Almost as if she'd expected a big fight and couldn't quite handle not getting one. She slumped down into one of the chairs around the table and grabbed one of his open bottles of whiskey.

Now that the idea was in his head, Sam couldn't shut it away and liked it more and more. Finally, something useful to do with his supposed gifts! Ruby had told him before she could teach him how to use them. He could already taste the bliss filled irony of being able to fight demons with the very powers Azazel had gone to so much trouble to give him. He wanted to find out for himself if revenge truly could be sweet.

Ruby took a drink straight out of the bottle. "Look, Lilith is one scary bitch." She slammed the whiskey down on the table as if to emphasize just how nasty.

Well, Lilith hadn't been able to kill him. She'd in fact run like hell from him he'd scared her so bad. So how kickass she was meant nothing to him. He wanted to serve her a plateful of bloody revenge. And he was ready to serve it to her right _now_.

"When I was in the pit, there was talk."

It was a strain not to shout at her to shut up -- to scream for her to get on with the lessons, for them to get down to business. But that was no way to get what he wanted, was it? Wouldn't serve for him to let her know just how badly, desperately he needed this.

"She's cooking up something big. Apocalyptic big."

So much the better. Even more reasons to do this thing. "So let's kill her."

"You wanna go in and half-ass it like before?"

Indiana. Dean. Killed. Dead. Taken.

Sam didn't want to think about his brother -- about his inability to rescue him, his failure when the time came and all the other ones after. He didn't need a reminder. That's what the weight around his neck was for. He'd just let her have her say.

"We have the time to get it right. Let's get it right."

A speech on restraint from a demon. That was rich. "Okay."

What would another broken promise to Dean add to the tally anyway? Not like his brother would ever find out that Sam didn't follow his wishes and played with his dark powers. "What do you want from me?"

He brought up the bottle in his hand and took a swig, the taste of bile rising inside him as he committed to this thing. What Dean didn't know about wouldn't hurt him.

"Well, a little patience. And sobriety."

His brows went up for a moment. She wanted him sober? What would be the point? Sam felt Ruby's stare boring into him.

"Promise me that and I will teach you everything I know."

He wondered if she had any idea of what she was asking him. The mere thought of no alcohol, of the memories and pain running rampant whenever and wherever they wished sent a shiver coursing down his spine. But there would be payback. Lots and lots of payback if he did as she asked and he had his way.

For better or for worse, he would do this thing. He set the bottle back on the table. "I promise."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Sam felt the cloud of numbness he'd built with the alcohol dissipating as the day wore on. Though he'd been buzzing for less than a couple of weeks, it had been constant, all day every day, so he started feeling anxious about DT's. He might not have been plastered all the time, but he'd been drinking heavily. There'd be a price to pay for that. And he was already craving a drink, fear gnawing at his gut of what life would be like without it.

But he didn't have a choice. It was either stop drinking or Ruby would teach him nothing. It just better be worth it.

He fidgeted on the lumpy couch, a low level headache pounding away at him in a chaotic rhythm. He already knew what to expect. He'd seen his father go into withdrawal often enough over the years and had looked it up online anyway to make sure. He could handle all of it – the shakes, the sweats, the nausea, the vomiting, the other mild or not so mild withdrawal symptoms. DT's weren't the problem. The problem was the reason he was drinking in the first place. The things he wanted to keep at bay. And his sole means of protecting himself from them was slowly and literally being pissed away.

Still, there was one upside. He wasn't alone anymore. Ruby might not exactly be anyone's ideal of a companion, but if he could put up with all of his brother's weird freak ass habits day in and day out, he could handle almost anyone. And it wasn't like he weren't already used to being bossed around. Between his father and Dean he'd had a bellyful of it – whether he'd liked it or not. And he'd take another full lifetime more if it would only bring them back. But that wasn't going to happen, was it? You'd think he'd have gotten that through his head by now.

His hand shook as he swept the hair away from his face.

Sam swallowed heavily his growing thirst burning inside. He rose to his feet and made his way to the kitchen, only throwing a quick glance at the bottles still sitting on the table in the dining room, calling to him. He grabbed one of the water jugs by the defunct pink fridge and guzzled some of it down, pretending it was something else. For a second he actually thought it _was_ whiskey and almost spit the whole thing out, then realized it was just a hallucination, another possible aspect of the DT's. Looked like not only did getting full drunk not suit him, but neither did cutting himself off. Detoxing wasn't going to be pleasant.

He had to get his mind away from all of it. And no way was he going to sleep and open up all the nasty doorways. No way.

"RUBY!"

In the short petite body she now wore, she stuck her head around the corner, her eyebrows raised. "You rang?"

Sam capped the water jug and dumped it in its corner on the floor. "I want to get going on this. Show me what I have to do."

"Hmmm." The rest of her body slipped into view. "You don't look so hot."

"_So_?" He spread his arms wide, daring her to make something of it. A spike of irritation flared through him, which goaded his blasted headache to pound even harder.

"So…it means you're not going to be all that receptive to learning, is what." She gave him a small shrug. "The stuff I want to show you isn't easy. It's going to require all your concentration and willpower. Can you honestly say you're ready for that right now?"

He felt his eye twitch. "Ask me if I care."

She sighed. "Look, I need to make a run into town. I can make you a concoction of Thiamin vitamins and some other herbs that will help you get through the no alcohol bit. Besides, unless you want me to use your stuff, I need to buy a few necessities of my own." She suddenly looked sheepish. "I don't know if you've realized this yet or not, but the two of us are going to be spending an awful lot of time together."

Sam couldn't help a snort. "Like I've never done that with anyone before." He'd just never thought he'd do it with anyone else ever again – especially not a demon.

"And I think we're going to need to have a talk about hygiene. I noticed you're still shaving, but when was the last time you actually bathed?"

That made his head jerk back a bit. He blinked, realizing he didn't have the faintest idea.

"That's what I thought." Ruby gave him a sideways smile. "Why don't you put the rest of that water to good use while I'm gone? I'll bring back more." Her smile grew wider. "Clean clothes would be a nice change too."

Sam said and did nothing as she turned around and walked away, his cheeks feeling uncomfortably warm. Maybe he hadn't been taking care of things as well as he'd first thought. Some things just had never honestly occurred to him. Still, it gave him something to do.

So grabbing the jugs and his duffel, he set up in the master bathroom. There might not be running water, but drains didn't depend on that. As long as the pipes hadn't broken or been clogged, they should do what he needed them to. He locked the warped door and put the shotgun on the sink, the demon killing knife on the cracked toilet cover. He peeled his clothes off, the movement releasing the stench of alcohol, sweat, and fear, leaving them to coil around him. They'd been with him so long he'd stopped noticing them -- just another facet of life that didn't involve him anymore.

With greater care, he pulled Dean's amulet over his head and set it next to the shotgun at the sink.

He supposed eventually he would have reeked enough one of the stores would have denied him service and brought it up to his attention. Would he have cared enough to do anything about it then or just stopped going out for supplies altogether? Hunt in the wild for his food. Collect water from the rain. Turn into a total hermit till he broke a leg one day and died. But booze didn't make itself, so he couldn't totally cut himself off from civilization, could he?

Just the thought of the alcohol made his throat ache. And it'd only been a little while. How much worse would this get? He really didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to _think_. Damn this better be worthwhile. If Ruby was just yanking his chain, though, he would…

His nails bit into his hand as he left the thought unfinished. He had to believe. He had to. He had nothing else.

Sam stepped into the tub and grabbed the partially empty jug. The cold water poured over his head and made him gasp in shock. Shivering from more than a lack of drink, he soaped up from top to bottom, then rinsed off. Teeth chattering, he palmed off as much of the water off his body as he could then got dressed in jeans and a gray t-shirt, not having anything to dry himself with. He was sure he'd be there soon enough anyway.

His gaze locked on the necklace sitting on the sink. Dean's necklace. His reminder of things left unfinished or promises broken and he was about to add another to the list. Reaching blindly, he grabbed the thing and hid it away in his pocket rather than put it back on. He needed to concentrate on other matters right now, and having the thing reminding him of Dean's disapproval on what he was about to embark on wasn't one of them.

Opening one of the other water jugs, he rinsed out the tub. He then closed the drain and throwing some laundry soap into the mix, hand washed his things. There'd been a few useful skills he picked up by being on the road with his family. This definitely wouldn't be the first time he and Dean had been forced to wash their clothes like this…

But Dean… Dean was dead.

A ripping noise echoed in the room and he jerked his hands off the shirt he'd been scrubbing. His fingers still throbbed from gripping the material so hard.

There _had_ to be a way not to think! He had to function, dammit! A deep booming sound bounced around him as he pounded his fist on the rim of the tub.

It was only laundry. He could do this… He _had_ to do this…

Then it came to him.

_Regna Terrae, cantata deo, psallite domino, qui vehitur per calus, caelos antiquos… _

Sam went through the entire Latin sequence in his head, then just looped it over and over like a never ending mantra. He would exorcise his thoughts just like he would a demon. The words filled his mind leaving little room for anything else.

He got back to work.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Ruby was gone longer than he expected. Daylight was fading and he had no idea if he should be worried or not. He paced in the family room, it slowly dawning on him that if she disappeared, if something happened to her, he'd have no clues with which to try to find her. He didn't even have the faintest idea what kind of car she used to get here, or if she used a car at all. He had no cell phone, and even if he had, he didn't have a number for her. He didn't even know which of the nearby towns she meant to go to for supplies in the first place. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The idea of being totally alone again left him cold.

He was seriously considering just taking the Impala and going off to look for her when there was a loud thumping from the front of the house.

Sam grabbed the shotgun and ran for the hallway, touching his back to make sure the demon knife was still tucked away there. He skidded to a stop before the front door and aimed the shotgun at it. "Yes? Who is it?"

"Come on! Open the door already." Ruby sounded none too happy. "I have my hands full."

He sighed with relief tinged annoyance and reached for the doorknob. He kept the shotgun's barrel aimed in the same direction just in case.

Ruby stood in the deepening gloom, a couple of large paper sacks nestled in her arms. She took a half step inside shoving one of the bags in his direction.

"I tried to call, you know. Seems your number's been disconnected." She brushed past him, sending him an irritated glare. "You really should do something about that. We need to be able to stay in touch, Sam."

"Sorry." He made sure not to sound it. It's not like he'd planned on any of this. "Now can we get on with the lessons?"

She stopped and sent him a sly glance. "There's a present for you in the trunk." She tossed him a set of keys.

Sam quickly tucked the shotgun beneath his arm and caught them, not sure what to make of this.

"I suggest you hurry up and bring it in. Then we can get on with things."

He set the sack of stuff in the corner and went outside. A non-descript sedan was making cooling clicking noises at the end of the driveway. He rushed past it to get at its trunk.

He glanced at the yard, the winding road, and the growing darkness, making sure he was alone before he stuck in the key and turned it not entirely sure what to expect. He took a step back as he got a look of what was inside. It was a man, unconscious, and tied to boot. What the hell?

Sam glanced back towards the house's open door but it was empty. Whatever it was she wanted to do, she must want to do it indoors. He stared at the man as a bad feeling pooled in his gut about who or what he was. He had made his decision though. There was no going back.

He grabbed the guy out of the trunk and threw him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Slamming the trunk shut, he quickly got back inside.

He found Ruby in the family room clearing away the leaves and dirt from the floor. She smiled as he came in. "Ah, I see you found it. Like it?"

Sam slid his gaze away from her. "Who is he?"

She shrugged. "No idea. But it's who's riding him that you should really care about."

"He's possessed?" Though it had occurred to him outside, he hadn't really thought… "How'd you find him?"

"I think he was in town looking for you, actually." She gave him a grin. "I just thought I'd give him a hand."

Sam shook his head. What were the odds that just when he was ready to give in to his powers that someone to practice on would present themselves on the same day? It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. "And you subdued him alone?"

"Let's just say I got the drop on him and leave it at that, shall we?" She grabbed something off the floor and held it out to him. It was a red spray paint can. "If you'd do the honors? Not sure how long he'll stay out. And I doubt he'll be happy when he wakes up."

Sam took the can and drew a Devil's Trap on the cleared floor. The circle and runes looked as if they were made from fresh spilled blood. He tried not to think about it. He was getting more creeped out about the whole thing by the second.

Ruby grabbed a solid wooden chair and picked it up as if it weighed nothing and brought it over. She set it down just outside the circle leaving Sam to place it inside. She retrieved some rope as he lifted the still unconscious demon from the floor and flopped him into the chair. He undid his feet first and retied them to the thick legs of the seat before doing the same with his hands. He got out of the circle once it was done.

Sam felt anxious and nervous and wasn't entirely sure it was just due to DT's. He was really going to use his powers willingly. He was actually going to break his word to Dean and risk going dark side. His gaze flickered toward the dining room and the bottles of comfort nestled there. His throat screamed for a drink. They promised they would make everything better. They would put up the barrier between his heart and his mind and make everything simple and numb again.

Sam turned away, shutting out the sight, disgusted with himself. He was such a coward. As if anything could hide him from what he was about to do.

"Give me the knife, please."

He found Ruby staring at him curiously, her hand outstretched for the blade. He removed it from the small of his back and handed it over without saying anything. Ruby then lit one of the oil lamps and set it in the far corner to drive the growing darkness back.

"Drink that." She pointed to a Coke bottle set on the mantle. "A little something to make things better… Like I promised."

He couldn't think of when she'd had the time to make the potion, but then again, time had been a twisting thing for quite a while. Sam picked up the bottle staring at the murky liquid behind the green tinted glass. Feeling her gaze glued on him, he took a tentative sip. It was bitter and somewhat awful, and he frowned at the coppery aftertaste, not sure if it was real or just another paranoid hallucination. He gulped the rest of the contents straight down, not wanting to think about it.

Ruby nodded when he finally came up for air and took the empty bottle from him. "Now sit down and take some deep breaths. Relax."

Sam ignored the recliner in the back, the thing looking like it had been a hellhound's chew toy. A bloody picture of Dean thrashing in pain and screaming took its place for a half second. He staggered back and almost fell down onto the lumpy couch.

He knew Ruby probably had no idea how much he'd really been drinking. Did he honestly want to walk the path of darkness with hallucinations, anxiety, and who knew what else ready to spring at him from nowhere, even after drinking her concoction? What the hell was he thinking, believing he was ready for this?

His head jerked up at a thumping sound from the other side of the room. Ruby had found some logs somewhere and was stacking several into the old open fireplace. After another minute, she had the thing lit sending the shadows to dance in the corners even as soft waves of heat started to permeate the room.

"Sam…"

He stopped staring into the hypnotizing flames and let his gaze wander over to her. She approached slowly then sat down on the couch beside him.

"I'm going to need you to concentrate." Her gaze locked with his. "I want you to reach out with your mind and try to sense my essence."

He raised a brow, having no idea how he was supposed to do that.

"Demons don't register the same in certain, let's call them, wavelengths. You need to find that wavelength and use it to show you what's there. Since I don't have a buddy to muddle the view, you should be able to pick me up pretty quickly." She turned a little to face him more squarely. "Your mind is already pretty disciplined from being a hunter. You shouldn't have any trouble sensing me when I'm this close. You just have to try."

He was a freak. He had weirdo powers. They flared whenever they wanted, but had gotten him out of some tight spots on occasion and even helped him save his brother a time or two. They were _his_. He had to use them, not let them use him. It was the only way to get revenge. He must make them dependable; make them work when he wanted them. No matter how crazy this all might seem.

Sam closed his eyes, trying to concentrate as Ruby had bid him. He sharpened his remaining senses as he would during a hunt, when trying to pick up on a nearby enemy trying to get the jump on him. He was aware of her being near him, of her presence. But she didn't feel any different from anyone else sitting so close.

"Come on, Sam, concentrate. Try to see me in your mind's eye."

He wanted to do as she asked, even as another part of him balked at the whole concept. If he did this, if he opened this door, he would never be able to shut it again. He would forever be a freak. There would be no doubts anymore about who he was, what he was. No more denials.

"You're too tense!" She slapped his leg.

It caught him so off guard, he jerked back his eyes snapping open.

"Relax a little." She frowned at him. "Don't force it. Let it just come to you. It's simplicity itself."

That's when he saw it -- a flicker of something over Ruby's form. So instead of closing his eyes again, he just stared at her intently, trying to see into her, through her. His head started pounding with a vengeance. He rubbed his hands against the rough fabric of his jeans, his palms suddenly sweaty.

He saw the flicker again and narrowed in on it. It seemed to cascade over her skin, beneath it, inside her. The longer he stared at it, the easier it was to see it. It fascinated and horrified him all at once. His head continued to pound but didn't grow any worse.

"I…I can see it…" It was like a second skin, a second person inside the shell of flesh.

"Good, that's very good." Ruby nodded. "Now I need you to try to touch it."

"What?" Sam blinked and lost his concentration. The flickering image disappeared and left only Ruby's outer skin for him to see.

She sighed with impatience. "You want to destroy demons, yes? And you want to help the innocents they're using, right? Well then, to do that, you're going to have to see the demon inside them, grab hold of it, pull it out, and then destroy it with your will."

Sam shot to his feet and backed away, sure she was insane. "How the hell am I supposed to do that? That's not possible." He shook his head and took another step away from her.

Ruby didn't move from the couch, but just stared at him with a raised brow. "And just exactly how did you think this was going to work, Sam?"

He shook his head again, suddenly unable to look at her. "I dunno…" He stared at the fire, at the unconscious man in the chair, then the whiskey on the table in the other room. "I mean, how, how do you even know my powers can do that? That they work that way?"

She sighed again. "Because they do. They can work any way you want them to. You have no preconceptions, no teachings to bind you to archaic rituals. You're ripe with potential, Sam. What Azazel did to you broke all the rules. You've had visions, you've pushed things with your mind, you've sensed spirits, you've used your will to take possession of dreams and bend them to your will. You're immune to demon viruses, to Lilith's Light of Death." Her gaze locked with his. "The potential for the things you can do are almost limitless! You just have to force the power to manifest how you want it to. To open the byways in your mind and let it flow."

Cold terror welled up inside him. The things she spoke of would make him more than a freak. More than tainted. Maybe it meant he wasn't even human.

Ruby's eyes narrowed, her mouth pulled down. "You don't really want revenge." Her voice was coated with disgust. "I thought you did, but I can see now you truly don't. And here I thought it was Dean holding you back before, but it was never him, was it? It was you all along." She slowly rose to her feet, anger flashing in her eyes. "You're afraid. And your fear is going to allow Lilith to go romping around the world doing whatever she wants."

Ruby took a step towards him. "Maybe it's a good thing Dean's in Hell rather than here. That way he won't have to see how his little brother possessed the power to stop the woman who murdered him and instead let her go free because he was afraid."

"Shut up! You know nothing about me." Anger and revulsion gurgled inside him, at her, at her words, but also at himself.

She snorted. "Don't I, Sam? Are you so sure? Because I've made it my mission to know _everything_ about you." She shrugged. "But then, maybe you're right. Because all this time, I never realized you were such a coward." Ruby shook her head. "I'm starting to get the feeling you could have stopped Lilith on your own long ago, and just didn't. That the power was already there in your hands but you refused to use it, wallowing in self pity and your fragile grasp of humanity and so just let your brother die without lifting a single finger to stop it."

"You _lie_!" Sam's hands bunched into fists at his side. She knew nothing, _nothing_! She'd not been there, she'd not been forced to hear Dean's screams as he was torn apart before her very eyes. She'd not smelled the scent of his blood filling the air, seen the light gone from his eyes. Sam had struggled with all his might and he'd been able to do _nothing_. He never wanted to be that impotent ever again.

Never again.

His arm suddenly rose up of its own volition, fingers spread out. His sight narrowed and he instantly saw the flickering essence coating Ruby's meat suit, thrumming inside it. His head clanged as if under an anvil but it meant nothing anymore. Sam focused his will and pictured himself grabbing her demonic essence. Squeezing it out of her.

Ruby's body jerked as if on a string. Her eyes grew wide but with a look of utter triumph rather than fear. Her mouth opened and black smoke whisked back and forth from the open lips.

It was like holding onto oil – it was slick, slippery. He could actually feel her as he held her with his will. He was holding a demon with his mind!

With a gasp, he brought his arm down, taking a step back and almost tripping over the ripped recliner. The smoke disappeared back down Ruby's throat and she straightened, not seeming the worse for wear. A great big smile was plastered on her face. "You did it!"

He couldn't believe her. He'd almost stripped her from her body. He could have hurt her, had wanted to hurt her. And she was _pleased_.

"Having a lover's spat, are we?"

Sam's head jerked to look behind Ruby, having forgotten all about their previously unconscious guest.

"Trying to figure out which one of you will free me and offer the other up to beg for Lilith's mercy, perhaps?" Cruel eyes stared at him, hungry for his pain. The demon wriggled his arms trying to get free, but Sam knew he wouldn't be going anywhere.

"Okay, Sam, you got this far. Now you just need to go a little farther. You can do this." Ruby pulled out the demon killing knife and moved to step beyond the Devil's Trap, covering the captured demon just in case. "He's going to fight you, so be ready."

Dread, hope, and fear, suffused Sam from head to toe. Should he really do this? Doubt gnawed at his guts. He'd just used his powers on Ruby though, hadn't he? Did he feel different? Had it changed him? Would he know? He was breathing too fast, but there wasn't much he could do about it. A drink would have been heavenly about then -- anything to tone down his jarred nerves.

He wished he'd never agreed to this. But what if it worked? What if it truly gave him the edge he so desperately wanted? He couldn't just throw that away.

He sent a worried glance in Ruby's direction. She met his gaze and gave him a slight nod, confidence oozing from her every pore.

Sam shifted his eyes to stare at his target and truly looked at him for the first time. The man seemed to be in his mid thirties, mostly bald, a coating of fuzz on his face. He wore heavy boots, ratty jeans, and a brown t-shirt and jacket. One of thousands of other men just like him, who frequented bars, did construction work or worked the land, had wives or lovers, lived normal lives. If Sam did this, if he managed to somehow pull it off, he could give that life back to him.

He took a couple of deep breaths, gathering himself inside, knowing in the end he had little choice. Gathering his will, he stretched out his right arm with his hand splayed as he'd done with Ruby before. He stared hard at the man and finally saw the flickering he'd seen inside Ruby's body. His was murkier, as if the soul he was ridding provided a modicum of camouflage. Sam mentally reached out to grab it.

Sharp pain filled his head the moment he touched the dark essence as it fought to get away from him, turn the tables on him. Sam tightened his hold.

The victim's mouth opened, the man's gaze locked with his. Black smoke poured forth in spurts as Sam continued to exert his will on it to draw it out. Anguish reflected in the man's eyes, as if the soul within knew what had happened to it and what was at stake. The black smoke continued to fight him, struggling to pour back into the body and maintain its hold on it.

Sam grimaced, finding it more and more difficult to hold onto the thing, like trying to keep oil from running through his fingers. He grunted in pain as the demon pushed back hard and he lost his hold. The smoke coiled entirely back into the body. The pain in his head spiked at the release and his arm came down.

He shuffled where he stood trying not to be disappointed at the failure, trying not to listen to the little voice deep down saying he deserved no better. He was new at this… He just had to try harder. He spied the safely ensconced demon grinning at him.

Sam had had more than enough of demons getting their jollies at his expense. Hatred flooded him, giving him strength. He raised his arm up again.

Pain thumped in his head, but this time he knew to expect it. The demon fought harder, it too having gotten a taste of what was coming. He couldn't give up though, he wouldn't.

Sam felt something warm trail out onto his lip, but didn't dare think of what it might be, needing to keep totally focused. The smoke started to puff out from the man's mouth again. This time he was sure the tortured eyes he saw belonged to the man trapped inside. As he continued to fight he noticed the man's face and bald head started to crack and peel as if something had happened to the body that the demon had kept at bay up to now.

Then Sam's brain was abruptly engulfed in fire. He tried to hold on but it was just too much -- he couldn't. He doubled over in pain, letting go of the filth he'd hoped to squash, the agony in his head way too intense to let him worry about anything else.

Rough laughter poured over him as he struggled to contain the pain, to stop his mind from feeling like it'd been burned and pureed and would pour out through his ears at any moment.

The wave eased off a little and he was able to straighten up and pry his hands away from his head. He did so only to see Ruby ram the demon killing knife through their prisoner's throat. Gold light covered the blade and wound in reaction, miniature lightning travelling all over the man's body. Ruby yanked the knife back out.

"Not funny," she said.

Sam was still trying to catch his breath, shocked by what she'd done, wanting to scream at her because he could have tried again after a moment or two, making her actions totally unnecessary. A metallic tang filled his mouth.

He stared at the corpse.

Here was another innocent lost. He'd failed again. Would nothing he ever tried work? Was he as doomed in this as he was in everything else?

He stared at the slumped body with pity, disgust, and more amazingly still a sense of slight satisfaction. At least another of those bastards was gone.

He didn't say anything as he staggered to the body and used the man's own coat to plug up both ends of the wound to keep his oozing blood from going everywhere. He extended his hand in Ruby's direction and without a word she handed the knife over. Sam cut through the bonds on the chair then half fell half knelt before it then used the bloodied blade to scratch out some of the paint to break the pentagram. The moment he did, Ruby stepped forward, pulled the chair back out of the broken circle, and hauled the corpse off of it and threw it over her shoulder as if it weren't even there.

"If you'd given me a chance to rest, I could have tried it again. I could have _saved_ him." He didn't bother disguising his unhappiness and contempt.

"Would have taken too long," she stated matter of fact. "He was pushing past your defenses. I could feel it." She shook her head, the dead cargo half off her small shoulder, yet her hand keeping it easily in place. "And the last thing we needed was to give him time, time to try something. There'll be others, Sam."

"_Fine_." He turned away from her. "Let's get this over with." He fetched the shovel and grabbed one of the oil lamps before leading the way out the kitchen towards the back of the property.

About thirty feet from the house, he set the lamp down on a flat rock and stepped off to the side. He stared at the hard ground. For a large chunk of his life he'd been digging up bodies. For the last year he'd been burying a lot of them instead. This wasn't the way things were supposed to be. And this time it wouldn't have been if he'd been able to learn to do this one thing right. But he hadn't.

Sam shoved the blade of the shovel into the sparsely covered dirt, a grimace of loathing on his face.

He saw Ruby dump the body next to the lamp as if it were a sack of grain and of no more consequence. Sam glanced away and used his foot to shove the blade in deeper into the ground before prying up the first of many more shovel fulls.

"Why don't you let me dig the grave?" Ruby stepped towards him, her voice low, the sparse light of the lamp and deepening darkness hiding her face in shadows. "You've had enough to do today."

He didn't look at her. "No."

"I can get it done faster, Sam."

He stabbed the shovel into the dirt again. "Ask me if I care."

She didn't.

He was sweating profusely in minutes, so he discarded his outer shirt and pitched it to the side. It was more than the exertion, more than his failure, it was his body giving him the hint there were things it craved, things he was denying it. He wallowed in the tortured sensation, the least he could do for penance even as the need twisted his guts. The shakes came on him not much later, his whole body rattling his teeth in his head, but he only kept on digging.

Ruby stood off to the side by the corpse, wisely keeping silent. The scents of sweat, fear, death and dirt wrapped around him to keep him company as he went about his work. For every failure there would be another grave like this one. How many more would he have to dig before he learned, before he could do what had to be done? How many of them could he live with, even knowing that at least the innocents wouldn't die alone?

The night sounds around them were muted, almost as if the land knew what had gone on that evening. He could feel the silent reproach of the stars and moon above him, witnesses to his failure yet again.

His heart lurched in his chest, his headache still pounding a dull cacophony inside his skull. He stopped for a moment as the world tilted, waiting for a wave of unwanted nausea to pass. His heart beat hard and fast, and it was hard to tell if it was the DT's or something else. Maybe his body would give up on him and put him out of his misery out here, ditching him inside a grave he'd dug himself.

"That's plenty deep, Sam."

He ignored Ruby and plunged the shovel back into the dirt again. It would never be deep enough. He would never be able to hide from his lack of success. Someone always seemed to be paying a price for his shortcomings -- everyone except himself.

He jerked back in surprise when the body dropped into the hole right next to him.

Ruby stood at the grave's lip. "It's more than deep enough. So stop already."

He wiped the sweat and wet hair away from his eyes while struggling to catch his breath and eventually nodded. He placed the shovel outside of the grave and then tried to boost himself out. His arms shook at the added weight and wouldn't hold him. He was tipping back into the hole when Ruby's hand shot out and grabbed him by his upper arm and yanked him out easy as you please.

Sam pulled his arm away once he was sure his feet would hold under him, never once looking her way. He grabbed the shovel from where he left it and began the arduous task of filling in the grave.

His breath huffed out in puffs before him as the hole slowly filled. Then Sam had the sudden, unshakable feeling he was being watched. He raised his head for a moment then quickly stared only at the ground, icy dread shooting through his veins.

DT's could include hallucinations and he'd already had a taste of them once or twice. But though he knew what it was, knew where it came from, that it wasn't _real_, it made it no less horrifying. What he'd seen, what he thought he'd seen, dried his mouth and throat and almost dropped him sobbing to his knees.

His family was here. Just at the edge of the light. His dead family… His mother, his father, Jessica, Dean… White, pasty faces slack in death, staring at his ghastly work, their silence an accusing weight upon him.

His grip on the shovel hardened and he forced himself to work faster. He couldn't handle this. He could not!

Sam never glanced away from the ground again, getting his work done as fast as he could, his head pounding in a double cadence urging him to go even faster.

Once he was done, half stumbling, he grabbed his shirt off the ground and made his way back towards the house, not once daring to look behind him.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Sam could feel Ruby's presence following him as he entered the kitchen and cut across it to the family room and then towards the dinning area. Mercifully, she seemed to be alone. He dumped the shovel on the long table by the duffel. Reaching inside the bag, he grabbed a bottle of aspirin and brought it out. Between his growing fatigue, the DT's, which her concoction seemed to not have helped _in the least_, and trying to play demon lord, he'd earned a little something to try to quiet his screaming head. He dumped out four or five pills into his waiting hand.

"Just give it time, Sam." She stood not far behind him, but also not too close. "It'll get better."

As if he cared. He turned around, the aspirin in one hand and one of the whiskey bottles from the table in the other. His need was clawing up his throat and into his brain. He couldn't get the horrid image he'd seen outside out of his head. And here she was telling him it would all get better. He laughed. "What? I need more practice?"

How many more bodies would it take? How full of graves would that backyard be before he understood and could control his demon side, if ever?

Ruby had her arms crossed and was leaning against a post between the open dining room and family room. "I'm not talking about pulling demons."

He bounced the pills in his hand then popped them into his mouth and swallowed a long draught of booze to chase them down. His mouth exploded at the harsh flavor, his blood screaming for him to pour more down his throat. But he needed to be sober, freaking sober.

He would drown in his own bile at this rate.

Sam swallowed hard, putting the tempting bottle down. He sat down on the edge of the table, slapped by simultaneous euphoria and self hate as the whiskey worked its way down to his stomach.

"I know losing Dean is –"

"Hey!" Everything dropped away at the mention of his brother's name. He raised a finger in warning, his gaze meeting hers. She was the last person in the world, in the universe, who should go around spewing that name or the fact his brother was gone. Would she never learn anything? "I don't want to talk about it."

He saw a flash of hurt cross her eyes but he didn't give a shit. Never would he forget that she was free while his brother wasn't. The topic of his brother was a dead subject for her, for everyone. He did _not_ want to think about Dean right now, even if the necklace in his pocket was poking into his leg. And if he had to get violent to prove that to her, he would.

Sam looked away, down at the bottle beside him and the escapism it offered him. Here she was making him promise to stay sober yet she dared hit him with this shit?

His anger rose and he struggled to clamp onto it, preferring that to the self loathing, to the pain barely held at bay, waiting like a predator to overtake and rend its prey apart in a weak moment. Ruby didn't know or understand a damn thing.

"You know what?" He turned to face her again, meeting her gaze and daring her to do something, anything, so he could let her have it. "Where do you get off slapping me with that greeting card time heals crap? What the hell do you know?"

Her seeming calm just ate at him. He craved to do something to crack it, to smash it into oblivion.

"I used to be human." The look in her eyes melted into something vulnerable and unexpected. She half shuffled toward him. "And I still remember what it feels like to lose someone."

Was this a trick? Another demon game run at his expense? But she had no soul co-inhabiting her body, no one to steal the memories and feelings from. Nowhere to pull the pain he saw reflected in her eyes except her own experience. Maybe she did know.

Ruby took another step forward. She uncrossed her arms and reached out to touch his face. "I'm sorry."

Sam swept her hand off his cheek, surprised and repulsed by the gesture in equal measure. "Don't."

Her expression turned inviting. She leaned toward him silently offering things he couldn't, shouldn't, didn't deserve, and could never ask for. It would mean opening himself again, opening his heart to possible pain, betrayal, loss. He couldn't deal with any of that anymore. "I can't."

Instead of backing away from him, Ruby came even closer, her eyes more open and expressive than he'd ever seen them. "Sam, you're not alone."

She pushed forward again and he didn't back away, a part of him not able to believe this was even happening. Her lips smashed into his, a jolt jarring through him at the contact. He felt his hands go up to grab her, to hold her, unknown need opening in a gaping chasm before him. Then something inside him screamed in utter denial and fear. Such things weren't meant for a failure such as him.

Sam half grabbed her face and pulled her off him, launching up from the table in a panic to get away. He headed off into the family room, his heart thundering in his chest. "What are you doing?"

"Sam, it's okay."

Was that hurt and despair in her voice or only him putting in what he wanted to hear? He sat down at the end of the couch, his knees feeling weak. He wiped at his mouth, his lips still tingling from her touch. "No. That is anything but okay!"

Why or how, it didn't matter. Anything that felt like that had to be wrong. He hadn't earned it. Far from it. Comfort was not for the likes of him.

Sam wiped at his mouth again this time with the back of his hand wishing for the lingering sensation to just fade. The harder he tried to ignore it, the more he recalled her touch.

"What's wrong?"

How could she be so naïve? "_What's wrong_?"

Her brown eyes were so full of hurt. So full of longing. It wasn't possible. "Where do I start?"

The hurt look just grew deeper. It called to him, though he tried to look away. It was as if like were calling to like.

"Is it because of the body?" Ruby tentatively came closer.

He had no idea what it was. It was just wrong, that's all. Wasn't it?

She came even closer shedding her black leather jacket. He couldn't look at her anymore. But he felt her presence even so. His lips burned with it.

Ruby fell to her knees in front of him. "Because I told you, it's all me inside here." She put her face on his and grabbed his unresisting hand away from his lips and brought it to her midriff. "There's no one else in here." She pushed his hand under her shirt and onto her warm, soft flesh. "And it's nice inside this body, Sam."

He took a deep breath through his mouth and pulled his face back, closing his eyes. Rather than make things better, it made them worse. Her scent, her womanhood, spun into his lungs. By closing his eyes he felt her warmth and the softness of her skin that much more clearly through his fingers. The need yawning inside him craved more and more. He turned his head to the side and opened his eyes in denial, yet couldn't pull his hand away, pleasant tingles running up his hand and arm at the contact.

Ruby raised his hand a little higher even as she pressed her face close to his again. "Soft and warm." She nestled his hand in both of hers and brought it even higher on her body.

"What are you doing?" It was intoxicating, maddening. He closed his eyes again wallowing in the sensation even as a part of him kept screaming this could not be.

"Isn't it because you're really scared to go there with a demon?"

Her lips were so close. Her warm breath fell on his cheeks, his mouth. He kept trying to pull away only to be drawn back again.

"Because it's wrong and it's bad and we shouldn't." Her lips kept caressing his cheeks and nose, leaving trails of fire on his skin.

Yes, she was a demon. But once she'd been human. And it dawned on him that despite who or what she was, she seemed to understand him. What he was feeling, what he needed, what he wanted. Sam grimaced. Was that wrong? Why was it bad? Who said? And they shouldn't? Who would stop them? Who was there to care? She didn't seem to mind what he was, so why should he?

Without thinking he turned his lips towards hers. Greedy need met them, which only served to increase his own. He moved his hands to her face to touch her, feel her. He grabbed her under the arms and she leapt up into his lap, as if she knew his thoughts before he did. Their lips locked in a fierce struggle as if each of them were trying desperately to consume the other.

Sam put one arm around her, the other reaching for her head, then both touching her soft and silky hair, driving her face into his, a fire burning inside him like a pyre.

Ruby drove him back into the couch and he clamped her closer to him, his lips following the line of her jaw and lips as she backed off for air.

He reached down for her shirt and she raised her arms willing, lively, his. She knew who he was, what he was, and didn't seem to care. Her need was his and his hers.

Her shirt came off followed by his, their lips only separating to stop the alternating current momentarily. Flesh touched flesh and all thoughts were driven from his head as he wallowed in pure physical fantastic sensation.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Sam's eyes opened, unseeing. Only slowly did his surroundings filter into his muddled brain and start forming into cohesive pictures in his mind. The molded ceiling and the fan with a missing blade let him know he was in the master bedroom. He, however, had no recollection of how he got there.

He felt tired and sore. Yet somehow better.

Dean was still dead. The pit of pain and failure and despair still waited to encroach on him unawares at the edges. Life still held nothing for him but revenge and the hopes for an end to his suffering, yet something had changed, something had come loose, his breathing was easier, his tolerance greater somehow. It was either that or he was deluding himself and at any moment the weight of it all would come crashing down on him again heavier than ever.

He half shifted where he lay and felt the familiar fabric of his sleeping bags move around him. His brows drew together as he came to the realization he was naked. That wasn't like him. So why…?

He turned his head as something moved against him, dragging part of the sleeping bag away from his skin. Not thinking, just reacting, he shoved away from where he was and rolled to his feet in a low crouch. His hand snaked out towards the nearest duffel to look for a weapon. Cool air bit at his buttocks and exposed skin.

A dark head of long loose curls popped out from under the quilted material.

"Hey, Sam." Ruby smiled at him and stretched out like a cat, the perfect picture of pleasured relaxation.

He frowned, sure there was a truth sitting in front of him, but not quite able to see it yet.

Ruby was totally nude and appeared more than aware of his gaze on her. Though not for the reasons she might think. Sam felt his breath grow heavy, each contour of her flesh seeming familiar but not to his sight, but rather to his hands, his hips, his lips. He spotted growing splotches of red deepening to blue and purple on her neck, thighs, and other places, even on her lips. His hand rose involuntarily to touch his own and found them tender.

Sam closed his eyes only to have flashes of feelings and sensations, of arms, legs, flesh intertwined. Cut off from the booze, his mind had gone in search of a replacement – endorphins. His face flushed as he recalled their first rushed, desperate dalliance. How after their first climax, Sam hadn't let Ruby off the hook, but instead used her again and again, moving from brutal, hard sex to something gentler, kinder, then back again and beyond. She'd taken everything he dished out and more, not holding back on her end either, more than eager to be used or do the using. She'd acted as desperate and needy as he.

What had he done?

Worse yet…what _hadn't_ they done?

And what would she be expecting?

Sam shook his head, his face hot and other parts of him reacting to Ruby's nude presence and the memories of what they'd done before. He stood up and turned his back on her, running his hand through his disheveled hair. Trying not to think, just do, he dug around for some clothes.

He could feel her staring at him, her gaze intent. It drove him to forage for stuff to put on that much faster. He'd enjoyed the sex, had needed it. But it felt weird. He wasn't his brother. He wasn't into one night stands, emotionless sex, rutting just for the sake of doing it. He wasn't an animal. Yet that was exactly what they'd been last night – mindless creatures driven purely by hormones and need. And he'd _enjoyed_ it.

It was the closest he'd come to feeling something positive since that awful awful night.

"You're not speaking to me today?"

Sam jumped, having momentarily forgotten Ruby was there. He almost trapped sensitive skin on the zipper in his hurry to get his pants on. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder. Ruby was still lounging on her stomach on the sleeping bag, naked, her feet up in the air moving slowly back and forth. "Yeah, sorry. Hey."

"I really enjoyed myself last night. It'd been a while."

He grabbed a t-shirt and quickly brought it up over his head hoping it hid the wash of red he was sure lit up from his neck all the way to the top of his head.

"Oh…no way!"

Despite himself, he half turned towards her at the sound of surprise in her voice. "What?"

"You're embarrassed about last night." Her eyes glittered. "It's making you uncomfortable that I am just laying around here naked." He could hear the smile in her voice. "You're shy! The mighty Sam Winchester is shy! That is so _cute_."

He felt his cheeks grow even hotter. A demon calling him cute. If there was ever a consolation about his brother not being around, he guessed this was it. Dean would have never let him live this down.

"I think we'll have to work on that."

Sam felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold, DT's, or anything else. He knew that tone. Had become terribly familiar with it through his brother. He'd just been issued a challenge. No way was he going there with her. "We have other _work_ to do." He headed toward the door. "I…appreciate last night, but there are other things we need to be doing right now." He stopped at the doorway, but didn't turn around. "Hunting down Lilith and her followers for starters."

"Oh, we'll be doing that. Don't you worry." Her teasing tone from before was gone. He felt a modicum of tension leave his shoulders. "My goals are the same as yours, Sam."

He nodded and then went on his way. Payback was all that mattered. And the sooner he got it, the better.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Aside from the few signs for locating demons he'd learned from Bobby and his father, like freak lightning storms, cattle deaths, temperature fluctuations, rashes of unexplained murders, people reported as having sudden extreme changes in behavior, and so on, Sam had no real idea how to track them. Ruby was an expert on her own kind, however. And she could sense them when they were very close by, which seemed to be a skill she'd sharpened over time on her own. So with a new list of items to keep an eye out for, he dove into doing research with a vengeance.

Then there were the lessons -- like daily meditation, and practicing in reaching out for her essence and just holding onto it as he worked on developing his demonic like skills and getting used to them.

Without the alcohol filling his system, his nightmares came back. So he slept only when Ruby wasn't, and then only with her assurance she would shake him awake the moment he seemed to be caught in a dream. It was erratic and tiring, but it seemed to work – he was able to function.

The chores and practice kept him from thinking, remembering, and strangely enough Ruby proved good as a distraction. If she wasn't telling him what to do, or chastising his lack of concentration, she was teasing him by walking around half dressed or making lewd suggestions. Occasionally he would cave in to her advances just to be able to lose himself for a short while. Ruby was very, very good at making him do that.

Then some of the alerts he set up finally started to bear fruit. The integrated databases he'd been working on began finding patterns. The probabilities started stacking up. Ruby felt there would be others coming into the area, looking for their missing comrade, giving them more fodder for practice, and it looked like she'd not been wrong.

The more powerful the demon, the more signs or omens there would be of their presence. It was almost like the power thrumming through them unbalanced things -- because they did not belong. These imbalances affected nature, and she in turn showed signs of her distress. If you knew to look for them, if you knew which ones spoke of what demon, you could find them, you could track them. Then you could go kill them.

Sam stared at the screen barely able to breathe, still unable to believe what he was seeing. Warning signs had popped up alright. And they matched signs he'd painstakingly gathered about a certain city in Indiana less than a month before. He'd found her. He'd actually found her…and she was _here_.

"RUBY!"

He stood up, palms on the table, his gaze never leaving the screen.

_She's here, Dean. She's here_! His right hand reached up and grabbed at the talisman hidden beneath his t-shirt, its metallic horns poking into his flesh. _And she'll pay for what she did to you, for what's being done to you. I swear it._

Ruby ran into the room. "What's wrong? What's going on?"

"I _found_ her."

"What?"

Sam slapped the lid of the laptop closed and turned to look at her. "I found Lilith. She's here."

Rather than the elated expression he expected, Ruby just looked shocked.

"That makes no sense… It's too soon…"

Sam picked up the laptop and left her there to go back to the bedroom where he slipped the computer into its carrier. Then he fixated on the duffel in the far corner, a special bag he'd prepared over the last few weeks. He grabbed it and headed back toward the back of the house, his brain filled with the possibilities. He returned to the dining room, but seeing the mess that just seemed to grow by the day on the table he turned toward the kitchen. Ruby hadn't moved.

"Sam…"

He walked past her to a piece of clear counter space and started setting up. First he dug through the stack of maps tied up in a rubber band and found the one for the county they were in. Then he set up a smaller version of the tripod Bobby had used at his place and carefully added the copper rod and piece of crystal that would focus the location spell.

He pushed the rod to send it swinging in a wide arc and felt his pulse rise with each succeeding heartbeat. The end was near. He read off the convoluted incantation, weaving Lilith's name into the mix.

The rod stopped moving, remaining steady at an askew angle, pointing out Lilith's exact location. "Yes!"

Making note of it, he put all the articles away, then folded the marked map and jammed it into his pocket.

"Sam, you need to listen to me." Ruby hadn't moved the entire time, watching him as if paralyzed in her position in the other room.

He grabbed his brown hoodie off the hook by the back door and slipped it on as he went back into the dining room.

"You're not ready yet."

"It's now or never." He hooked the zipper end to the clip, his mind a million miles away. The end was here. He'd actually _found_ her.

"No, we gotta wait until you get it right." Her dripping tone of disapproval pulled him back. "You haven't been too successful."

Sam zipped up his coat, knowing she was right and not caring in the least. Lilith wasn't getting away from him. He owed this to Dean, he owed this to himself. He couldn't just let this chance slip away. Demon powers be damned – there were other ways to kill the whore. He stepped up to the table and the open duffel sitting there. "All right, I'll use this."

He reached into the bag and pulled out the demon killing knife.

Ruby grabbed his wrist. "Stop."

Sam stared at her surprised. Why the hell was she hesitating? He knew she wanted Lilith gone as badly as he did. This was their chance! He stared at her, not understanding the worry running toward fear on her face.

"You can't fly in there reckless, Sam. We need you to take the bitch out."

"Oh, I'll take her out all right." The thought alone brought him endless amounts of glee.

Ruby didn't look any happier. "You get one shot. And you're it." She let go of his wrist. "You're the only one who can do it, Sam. So if she kills you first…"

He looked away from her not wanting to even consider the thought. Lilith would die – one way or another – and it would be today.

Ruby got suddenly quiet staring at him even more intently. It was odd and unexpected. He didn't know what to make of it. "What?"

"You don't wanna survive this."

Something inside him pinged at the words but he was so not going to go there. "Come on."

"It's a kamikaze attack. You want to die fighting Lilith." She stared at him as if she could read him like a book.

What the hell did she know? He turned away from her and started to stomp off. "That's stupid."

He went down the hallway, Ruby close on his heels.

"No, it's the truth. Because if you kill her and you survive this, then you have to go on without your brother." She cut him off and plastered herself against the front door, locking her gaze to his. "This isn't what Dean would have wanted. This isn't what he died for."

She knew nothing. She _understood_ nothing. "Get out of my way."

"No, Sam." She shook her head her voice low. "This is suicide."

Ruby then threw herself at him but he caught her easily and shoved her against the wall. He held the demon killing knife against her throat his gaze boring into her face. No one would steal this chance from him – _no one_. Not even her.

Dean would be avenged.

It didn't matter that they'd had sex. It didn't matter she was the one who'd worked so hard to give him the means to do this. It didn't matter he'd yet to master his skills. She would _not_ _stop him_. Anger frothed in his mind. The end was so close he could taste it and he wouldn't be denied. Not again!

He locked stares with Ruby and made sure she understood he was serious. That he would kill her if he had to. He kept the knife at her throat, only a mere ounce of pressure keeping the sharp blade from cutting into her skin and making an end of her forever. It kept her frozen in place as he reached for the doorknob of the front door to let himself out.

Sam gave her one last glare of warning before he pulled the knife from her throat and walked away. Today would see an end to everything.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Driving into Ennis and locating the street where the spell had located Lilith was easy. Sam parked the Impala in a parking spot at a nearby public park and approached his target on foot. He walked slowly, letting his gaze traverse the neighborhood looking for any signs of guards or other trouble. From the way things had gone down in Indiana, he knew Lilith didn't usually travel alone. His one possible advantage was that she was here looking for him, and might not be expecting him to be looking for her.

The street was quiet, the epitome of perfect suburbia. Full grown, lush trees, manicured lawns and bushes, brightly painted two story wooden homes -- an innocent façade which hid evil incarnate.

Sam stopped next to a tall hedge as he reached his destination and stared through the set of bay windows facing the street of the house before him. Inside, in a deeper room of the house, he could just make out a lavish dining room, the large table laden with cakes, cookies, and other sweets. A young girl in a blue dress with a large bow sat in a chair with her back toward him.

This was it. The girl would be Lilith's latest meat puppet. All the same signs they'd seen back in Indiana. Like humans, demons tended to be creatures of habit. This meant that Lilith was really _here_. All the horror would finally come to an end -- now.

Taking one last look around, Sam quietly made his way to the house's front door. He picked the lock and slipped inside, demon killing knife at the ready. He closed the door behind him, senses primed for anything unusual, making sure to be as silent as humanly possible.

He shifted the knife to his left hand and held it in an overhand grip as his right reached for the partially open door in front of him. Moving forward quickly as it swung wide, he found the closet off the foyer empty except for hangers and coats.

Sam stepped deeper into the house.

An open doorway let him peer into the living room. It contained a large marble and white colored fireplace. Books in white shelves filled up the wall to either side. There was no one in sight. An opening to the right, across from the bay windows he'd peeked through earlier, led into the dining room.

He spotted Lilith still sitting in the same chair at the table. Sam switched the blade back to his right hand, his palms moist, and silently crept toward her.

Soon this would be over. Soon it would be done. Lilith would pay for taking his brother away from him. Dean would be avenged.

His blood made thumping sounds in his ears as his pulse quickened the closer he came. He tried not to think about the life of the young girl he was about to sacrifice. For the amount of evil he would bring to an end, that would never be, it would be worth it. If not, he would pay the price when he died, along with that of all the other innocents whose blood stained his hands.

Sam tensed, gearing to plunge the knife into the small body before him and end everything when the girl suddenly turned toward him, tears staining her face. "Please, I want to go home."

What the hell?

Someone hit his arm from behind while crashing into his back. Sam cried out in pain as his wrist was twisted back forcing him to drop his only weapon. A second man came from out of nowhere and shoved him hard against the wall, his forearm pinning him by the neck and making it hard to breathe.

Sam struggled to get free from him, fear and adrenaline rushing through his veins, but it wasn't enough to overcome demon enhanced strength.

His captor brought his face up close, a sneer on his lips. "Lilith sends her regrets. She couldn't make it."

Cold goose bumps rushed to cover Sam from head to toe at the words. The bitch wasn't here. She'd somehow figured out how they tracked her down the last time and assumed they would do it again. This was a trap. A trap for him and he'd walked right into it like a total amateur.

The demon killing knife glinted at him, taunting him, having fallen to the floor too far from him to be of any use.

The demon shoved him back against the wall again, putting more pressure against Sam's neck, as if he knew what he was thinking. Sam struggled to get some air, his lungs already complaining. Ruby's warning that he wasn't ready echoed over and over in his head as from down a long tunnel.

He'd failed…_again_. He'd thrown away his only shot for vengeance. Would he never get anything right? At least there was no one here to see this final failure. Maybe his death would be quick. Maybe he would see Dean soon…

The sound of metal and a grunt of pain flickered from his right even as black peppered the edges of his consciousness.

"What?"

The pressure eased from Sam's neck and he half fell forward as he found himself suddenly free. He glanced to his right only to spot a familiar black jacket and petite figure. Ruby! She'd come after him.

One of the two demons who'd attacked him lay bleeding on the floor, dead.

She threw a look over her shoulder at him, keeping the second demon at bay. "Take the girl and run."

His brain balked at the command, but only for a moment. Ruby was a demon, Ruby had the knife. He had nothing. There was zilch he could do. He pushed away from the wall straight toward the cowering girl. He scooped her up in his arms and rushed out the way he'd come.

Once outside, he saw the streets were still empty. There were no demons, no people, nothing. Either Lilith had felt ambushing him with just two demons would do the trick, or had wanted to minimize her loses as much as possible giving him way too much credit in the power department.

He was alive, free.

He'd escaped death once more, though he deserved no better, but only because Ruby had backed him up despite how he had treated her. Despite the fear he'd seen in her face, knowing his rash action was doomed and he most likely would take her down with him.

Sam stared down at the shaking girl in his arms, then the clear way around him. He should run and get her to the Impala. Drive away to safety.

He didn't move. Though she was a demon, no longer human, he couldn't just leave Ruby behind. Despite her better judgment, she'd ignored her own council and come to help him. Though at the moment she had the upper hand, something could still go wrong and she could be hurt or killed. Something always went wrong.

Sam hastily set the girl down on her feet. "Go! Run! There's a black car at the park. Get inside it and lock the doors as quick as you can!"

The little girl nodded, tears still glinting in her eyes and ran.

He watched her run for half second to make sure she was on her way then rushed back into the house.

Tearing into the living room, he spotted Ruby being lifted off the floor by the neck against a beam until her feet no longer touched the floor. The knife was back on the ground, totally out of her reach, and definitely too far for him to get to in time to help her.

"Ruby, you're in so much trouble." The demon pining her to the beam sounded quite happy. "When we get you down in the basement, the things we're going to do to you."

She'd risked her freedom, her life for him. She risked having to return to a fate as bad if not worse than Dean's. He owed her for this. For this and more…

Sam shook his head trying not to think about what he felt or could hear or anything else, instead concentrating on calming his breathing and clearing his mind. He focused on the demon before him, sensing for his flickering essence as he extended his arm forward.

He reached for the core of the demon, feeling its oily presence as he touched it with his mind. He would grab hold of it, pull it, get rid of it. He had to make this work. He was Ruby's only hope. His mind grabbed hold and pulled. The pain that flared in his head made his vision double. He held on. This thing must die.

He squeezed, his mind suddenly ringing with the words of the Latin exorcism he'd been using as a mantra of late -- _Regna Terrae, cantata deo, psallite domino, qui vehitur per calus, caelos antiquos…_ His world narrowed, the words focusing his mind to a sharper point than before. Black smoke poured out of the large man's mouth, the body convulsing as if vomiting out vile poison. The pain twisted in Sam's head and he felt something trickle down his nose.

The demon released Ruby and fell to the floor, the black smoke totally enveloping the meat suit from view. Sam pushed his will forward, chanting the Latin words in his mind as if pounding nails into a coffin, ignoring the persistent and ever increasing pain.

He willed the demon gone.

The smoke suddenly shimmered with edges of gold. Then it burned to ashes before totally disappearing, leaving nothing of the demon behind except the faint stench of sulfur.

It was done.

The power lashed at him as he released it. His head felt as if it would explode with every heartbeat as he gasped for air. But Sam also found that he was flushed with a sense of utter satisfaction. He'd driven the demon out and gotten rid of it.

"Sam…"

He had to struggle for more air just to try and answer. "I'm okay."

Ruby's lip was bloody but she was standing on her own and looked otherwise fine. He realized that it pleased him to see it. All he'd done today -- this success and all the ones he now felt would follow, were all due to her.

"Thanks."

And there was something more. Something totally unexpected. Everything around him looked brighter, sharper. It seemed to mean more. It took him a minute, but he finally understood what was going on. For the first time in a long time he'd actually succeeded. He had a weapon he could use -- one that might not require for the innocents to die. He could make a _difference_.

Despite all the anguish and pain, there might finally be hope. Demon kind would soon rue the day they ever decided to mess with the Winchesters. Because now that he had the power he planned to make them all pay -- even if it took a lifetime.

They would pay.

Every…last…one…

The End

Notes: Thanks to Kaz as usual for providing an extra pair of eyes and checking the angst-o-meter.

The original timeline in my head got pushed around a little as I watched the episode for notes as the pizza boxes, beer, and whiskey bottles NEVER changed on that bloody dining room table. lol. That or Sam was anal about where those things had to go. Heh heh. (Had to update the story after it was totally posted as I came to realize not once was Dean's necklace mentioned or shown, so had to account for that. Doh! Couldn't believe I forgot about the darn thing! Eek!)

As always, thanks for reading!!!!


End file.
